Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/15

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A TRAGEDY.
7
Of these impending towers, invite her steps,
She issues forth.—Beshrew me, but I tremble,
When my own keys discharge the drawbridge chains,
And rattle thro' the castle's farmost vaults.
Then have I seen this sad, this sober mourner,
With frantic gesture and disorder'd step—
But hush—who moves up yonder avenue?
It is—no—stay—ifaith! but it is he,
My lady's confessor, with friar Martin—
Quick hie thee hence—should that same medling monk
Observe our conf'rence, there were fine work toward.

FLORIAN.
You will not leave your tale unfinished?

PORTER.
Mass! but I will—a tale will pay no stipend.
These fifty winters have I borne this staff,
And will not lose my porridge for my prating.

FLORIAN.
Well! but count Edmund—wo't not hear of him?

PORTER.
Aye, bless his name! at any leisure hour.
This ev'ning, e'er the shutting of the gates,
Loiter about yon grange; I'll come to thee.
So now, begone—away. [Exeunt severally.


SCENE III.

BENEDICT, MARTIN.

BENEDICT.
As if I had not prob'd hAy! sift her, sift her—
As if I had not prob'd her very soul,
And wound me round her heart—I tell thee, brother,

This

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