Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/18
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
10
THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
BENEDICT.
She will take none:
Offer'd, she scoffs it; and withheld, demands not.
Nay, vows she will not load her sinking soul
With incantations.
She will take none:
Offer'd, she scoffs it; and withheld, demands not.
Nay, vows she will not load her sinking soul
With incantations.
MARTIN.
This is heresy;
Rank heresy; and holy church should note it.
This is heresy;
Rank heresy; and holy church should note it.
BENEDICT.
Be patient, brother—Tho' of adamant
Her reason, charity dissolves that rock,
—And surely we have tasted of the stream.
Nay, one unguarded moment may disclose
This mystic tale—then, brother, what a harvest,
When masters of her bosom-guilt!—Age too
May numb her faculties.—Or soon, or late,
A praying woman must become our spoil.
Be patient, brother—Tho' of adamant
Her reason, charity dissolves that rock,
—And surely we have tasted of the stream.
Nay, one unguarded moment may disclose
This mystic tale—then, brother, what a harvest,
When masters of her bosom-guilt!—Age too
May numb her faculties.—Or soon, or late,
A praying woman must become our spoil.
MARTIN.
Her zeal may falter.
Her zeal may falter.
BENEDICT.
Not in solitude.
I nurse her in new horrors; form her tenants
To fancy visions, phantoms; and report them.
She mocks their fond credulity—but trust me,
Her memory retains the colouring.
Oft times it paints her dreams; and ebon night
Is no logician. I have known her call
For lights, e'er she could combat its impressions.
I too, tho' often scorn'd, relate my dreams,
And wond'rous voices heard; that she may think me
At least an honest bigot; nor remember
I tried to practice on her fears, and foil'd,
Give o'er my purpose.
Not in solitude.
I nurse her in new horrors; form her tenants
To fancy visions, phantoms; and report them.
She mocks their fond credulity—but trust me,
Her memory retains the colouring.
Oft times it paints her dreams; and ebon night
Is no logician. I have known her call
For lights, e'er she could combat its impressions.
I too, tho' often scorn'd, relate my dreams,
And wond'rous voices heard; that she may think me
At least an honest bigot; nor remember
I tried to practice on her fears, and foil'd,
Give o'er my purpose.
MARTIN.