Forbear! forbear! forbear!
The pious are heav'n's care.
Lamentations ill become us,

When the good are ravish'd from us.
The pangs of death but smooth the way
To visions of eternal day.

Bened. [Aside to MART.] Now, man of aspin conscience! lo! the gods,

That sentence Benedict's unholy purpose!
Art thou a priest? Wast thou initiated
In each fond mummery that subdues the vulgar,
And standest thou appall'd at our own thunders?
Mart. Who trembled first? It was thy guilty
conscience

That gave the alarm to mine.

Bened. Peace, dotard, peace!

Nor when the lamb is nigh, must eagles wrangle.
Fair saint, give us to know why flow these tears;
[To ADE.
Why sighs that gentle bosom; and why chant ye
That heav'n-invoking, soul-dissolving dirge?
Ade. Ah! holy father, art thou then to learn
The pious abbess is at peace! We go
To bear her parting blessing to the countess.
Bened. It must not be, Occasions of much
import

Engross her faculties. By me she wills you
Restrain your steps within the cloister's pale,
Nor grant access but to one stranger knight.

Ade. Is't possible? Can my dear mistress bar Her faithful handmaid from her gracious presence?

Shall I not pour my sorrows in her bosom,
And moisten it with grief and gratitude?
Two friends were all poor Adeliza's wealth.
Lo! one is gone to plead the orphan's cause.
My patroness, like Tobit's guardian spirit,*
Confirms my steps, and points to realms of glory.
She will not quit me in this vale of bondage?
She must be good, who teaches what is goodness.
Bened. (Indeed! my pretty prattler!-then
[Aside.
As sound a saint as e'er the rubric boasted.
-Ah! 'tis the countess-now for my obedience.)
Young lady, much I marvel at these murmurs.
[To ADE.
Just sense and sober piety still dictate
The countess's commands. With truth I say it,
My sins diminish, as I copy her.

am I

My own detested life but lingers round thee!
Ha! what a glance was there! it spoke resem-
blance

To all I hate, adore-My child, retire:
I am much discompos'd--the good old abbess
Claims thy attendance.

Ade. Mercy crown her soul!
She needs no duty we can pay her now.

Coun. How! art thou desolate? not a friend' left

To guard thy innocence?-Oh! wretched maid! Must thou be left to spoilers? or worse, worse, To the fierce onset of thy own dire passions? Oh! is it come to this?

Ade. My noble mistress,

Can Adeliza want a minist'ring angel,
When shelter'd by thy wing?-yet Benedict
Says, I must shun this hospitable roof.
Indeed I thought it hard.

Coun. Did Benedict,

Did he audacious dare forbid my child,
My little orphan to embrace her-curses
Swell in my throat-hence-or they fall on thee.
Ade. Alas! for pity! how have I offended?
Bened. Madam, it is the pupil of your care,
Your favour'd child—

Coun. Who told thee so? Be dumb

For ever-What! art thou combin'd with Ed

Wilt thou acknowledge the divine instructress, When syren pleasures lap thee in delights?

Ade. If such the witchery that waits on guilt, Why should I seek th' enchantress and her wiles? The virgin veil shall guard my spotless hours, Assure my peace, and saint me for hereafter. Coun. It cannot be

To Narbonne thou must bid a last adieu!
And with the stranger knight depart a bride.
Ade. Unhappy me! too sure I have o'erbur-
then'd

Thy charity, if thou would'st drive me from thee.
Restrain thy alms, dear lady. I have learnt
From our kind sister-hood the needle's art.
My needle and thy smiles will life support!
Pray let me bring my last embroidery;
'Tis all by my own hand. Indeed I meant it
For my kind lady's festival.

Coun. Great justice!

Does this stroke pierce not deep enough? These

Hear my last breath. Avoid the scorpion Pla

sure.

Death lurks beneath the velvet of his lip, And but to think him over, is perdition! -O retrospect of horror!-To the altar! Haste, Adeliza,-vow thou wilt be wretched! Ade. Dost thou then doom me to eternal sor

rows?

Hast thou deceiv'd me? Is not virtue happiness? Coun. I know not that. I know that guilt is

torture.

Ade. Sure Pestilence has flapp'd his baleful
wing,

And shed his poison o'er thy saint-like reason!
When thou so patient, holy, so resign'd,
Doubtest of virtue's health, of virtue's peace.
-But 'tis to try me-look upon this relic:
'Twas the good abbess's bequest. 'Twill chase
The fiend that walks at twilight!

Coun. How she melts me

What have I said?-my lovely innocence,
Thou art my only thought-O! wast thou form'd
The child of sin?-and dare I not embrace thee?
Must! with eager ecstacy gaze on thee,
Yet curse the hour that stamp'd thee with a
being!

Ade. Alas! was I then born the child of sin! Who were my parents? I will pray for them. Coun. Oh! if the bolt must come, bere let it

strike me. [Flinging herself on the ground. Nature! these feelings were thy gift. Thou

know'st

it-.

With foul reproach will gall thy spotless soul, And taunt thee with a crime past thy conceiving. Oh! 'tis to shield thee from this world of sor

rows,

That thou must fly, must wed, must never view The tow'rs of Narbonne more; must never know The doom reserv'd for thy sad patroness!

Ade. Who threatens thy dear life! recall thy

son,

His valiant arm will stem a host of foes, Replace thy lord, and woo thee to be happy; Coun. Ha! little imp of darkness! dost thou

wear

That angel form to gird me with upbraidings! Fly, ere my rage forget distinction, nature,

Ade. She is not here. Shall we not follow her?

Such agonies of passion! sure some demon Assaults her. Thou shalt pray by her. Indeed I tremble for her life.

Bened. Thou know'st her not.

Her transport is fictitious. "Tis the coinage
Of avarice and caprice. Dost thou not see
Her bounty wearies? While thy babbling years
Wore the trick of novelty, thou wast her play-
thing.

The charity of the great must be amus'd.
Mere merit surfeits it; affliction kills it.
The sick must jest and gambol to attract
Their pity-Come, I'll warrant thou hast wept,
And told her heav'n will register each ducat
Her piety had spar'd to clothe and feed thee.
Go to; thou hast estrang'd her; and she means
To drive thee hence, lest thou upbraid her change.
Ade. Upbraid my patroness! I! I upbraid
her,

Who see her now the angel that she'll be!
How knew I virtue, goodness, but from her!
Her lessons taught me heav'n; her life reveal'd
it.

The wings of gratitude must bear me thither,
Or I deserve not paradise.

Bened. Thou art young.

Thy novice ear imbibes each silver sound,
And deems the music warbled all by truth.
Gray hairs are not fool'd this. I know this
Countess,

SCENE continues.

Enter BENEDICT.

Bened. The business is dispatch'd. Their hands are join'd.

The puling moppet struggled with her wishes;

Invok'd each saint to witness her refusal :
Nor heeded, though I swore their golden harps
Were tun'd to greet her Hymeneal hour.
Th' impetuous count, fir'd with th' impure sug-
gestion,

As if descending clouds had spread their pillows
To meet the pressure of his eager transports,
Would have forerun the rites. The maid af-

frighted

At such tumultuous, unaccustom❜d onset,
Sunk lifeless on the pavement. Hastily
I mumbled o'er the spell that binds them fast,
Like an envenom'd robe, to scorch each other
With mutual ruin- Thus am I reveng'd.
Proud dame of Narbonne, lo! a bare-foot monk
Thus pays thy scorn, thus vindicates his altars.
Nor while this woollen frock shall wrap our
order,

Shall e'en the lillied monarchs of our realm
Be plac'd so high, but a poor friar's knife
Shall fell their tow'ring grandeur to the carth,
Oft as they scant obedience to the church.

Por. Yes, yes, you can. They say the foul fiend dreads A scholar--Tut, your holy wit can pose him, Or bind him to the red waves of the ocean. Oh! he afflicts her gentle spirit, and vomits Strange menaces and terrible from her mouth! Then he is sullen; gags her lab'ring lips, And she replies not-

Bened. Good man exorcist,

Thy pains are unavailing. Her sins press her.
Guilt has unhing'd her reason.

Por. Beshrew thy heart,

Thou dost asperse her. I know those are paid
For being saints that-

Bened. Stop that tongue profane :
Thou art infected with her heresies.
Judgments already have o’erta’en thy mistress.
Thou, at thy peril, leave her to her fate.

Por. Father, belike there is a different heaven
For learned clerks and such poor men as I am.
Me it behoves to have such humble virtues
As suit my simple calling. To my masters
For raiment, food, for salary, and protection,
My honest heart owes gratitude. They took me
From drudgery to guard their honour'd persons.
Why am I call'd a man of worship? Why,
As up the chancel I precede my lady,

Do th' vassals of the castle, rang'd in rows,
Bow e'en to Peter!-why ? but, by the rood,
Because she plac'd this silver-garnish'd staff
In Peter's hand. Why? but because this robe,
Floating with seemly tufts, was her gift too.
For honours of such note owe I not thanks!
Were my life much to sacrifice for hers?

Bened. Peace with thy saucy lecture, or ha

With tears as warm as leaping blood? Por. Oh! master,

You seem too good to mock our misery.
A soldier causes woe, but seldom jeers it.
Or know'st thou not-and sure 'twill pity thee!
The gracious countess, our kind lady—indeed
I trust they will return-is strangely chang'd!
Flor. By my good sword, thou shalt unriddle,
priest !

What means this tale? What mintage is at work
To coin delusion, that this fair domain
May become holy patrimony? Thus

Teach you our matrons to defraud their issue
By artificial fits and acted ravings?

clouds

O'er yonder moat, infect the moping air,
And steam with phrenzy's melancholy fumes.
But now and I met Edmund-with a voice
Appall'd and hollow like a parricide's,

He told me he was wedded. When I ask'd
To see his bride, he groan'd, and said his joys
Were blasted ere accomplished. As he urged
His suit, the maiden's tears and shrieks had
struck

On his sick fancy like his mother's cries!
Th' idea writhing from his brain, had won
His eye-balls, and he thought he saw his mother!
-This ague of contagious bigotry

Has gain'd almost on me. Methinks yon monk
Might fell me with a chaplet- -Edmund left

Flor. No matter:

Th' arrival of a nobler younger count
Shall mock prognostics past, and paint the year
With smiling white, fair fortune's favourite livery.
But tell me, father, tell me, has the countess
[TO BENEDICT.

Pardoned her son's return? Has she received him

With th' overflowings of a mother's joy?
Smiles she upon his wishes?--As I entered,
Methought I heard an Hymeneal accent.
And yet, it seems, the favour of your countenance
Wears not the benediction of rejoicing.

Ben. The countess must unfold her book of

Th' imposture shall be known. These sixteen

years

Has my friend Edmund pin'd in banishment:
While masses, mummings, goblins, and processions
Usurp'd his heritage, and made of Narbonne
A theatre of holy interludes

And sainted frauds. But day darts on your spells.

Th' enlightened age eschews your vile deceits, And truth shall do mankind and Edmund justice.

Bened. Unhallow'd boy, I scorn thy contumely. In camps and trenches vent thy lewd reproaches, Blaspheming while ye tremble. Heav'n's true soldiers,

Endu'd with more than mortal courage, defy
Hosts numerous as the Pagan chivalry
Pour'd forth to crush the church's rising glories.
-But this is an enlighten'd age !-Behold
The triumphs of your sect! to yonder plains
Bend thy illumin'd eye! The Vaudois there,
Writhing in flames, and quiv'ring at th' approach
Of Rome's impending knife, attest the blessings
Conferr'd on their instructed ignorance!

Flor. Monstrous ! unparallel'd! Are cries
and groans

Of butcher'd conscientious men the hymns
With which you chant the victories of the church?
Do you afflict and laugh? stab and huzza?
-But I am dallying with my own impatience-
Where is this mother? I will tent her soul;
And warn thee, if I find suggestion's whisper
Has practis'd to the detriment of my friend,
Thy caitiff life shall answer to my sword,
Though shrin'd within the pillars of the Vatican.

Bened. Judge, heaven, betwixt us!

If, ere the dews of night shall fall, thou see'st not The cup of wrath pour'd out, and treble woes O'ertake unheard-of crimes; call me false prophet,

Renounce my gods, and join thee to the impious! Thou in thy turn, if truth lives on my lips, Tremble! repent!-behold! the hour ap

proaches!