Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/23

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A TRAGEDY.
15
COUNTESS.
Father, my crimes are Pagan; my belief
Too orthodox to trust to erring man.
What! shall I, foul with guilt, and self-condemn'd,
Presume to kneel, where angels kneel appal'd,
And plead a priest's certificate for pardon?
While he, perchance, before my blasted eyes
Shall sink to woes, endless, unutterable,
For having fool'd me into that presumption.

BENEDICT.
Is he to blame, trusting to what he grants?

COUNTESS.
Am I to blame, not trusting what he grants?

BENEDICT.
Yet faith—

COUNTESS.
I have it not—Why shakes my soul
With nightly terrors? Courage such as mine
Would start at nought but guilt. 'Tis from within
I tremble. Death would be felicity,
Were there no retrospect. What joys have I
What pleasure softens, or what friendship sooths
My aching bosom?—I have lost my husband:
My own decree has banish'd my own son.

BENEDICT.
Last night I dreamt your son was with the blessed.

COUNTESS.
Would heav'n he were!

BENEDICT.
Would heav'n he were!Do you then wish his death?

COUNTESS.
Should I not wish him blest?

BENEDICT.

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