Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/25

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A TRAGEDY.
17
I pardon them. Illy of me you deem;
I know it, lady. 'Tis humiliation:
As such I bow to it—yet dear I tender
Your peace of mind. Dismiss your worthless servant:
His pray'rs shall still be yours.

COUNTESS.
Discretion does not guide mForgive me, father:
Discretion does not guide my words. I meant
No insult on your holy character.

BENEDICT.
No, lady; chuse some other monitor,
Whose virtues may command your estimation.
Your useless beadsman shall behold with joy
A worthier man mediate your peace with heav'n.

COUNTESS.
Alas! till reconcil'd with my own breast
What peace is there for me!

BENEDICT.
There lives a holy man, whIn th' neighb'ring district
There lives a holy man, whose sanctity
Is mark'd with wond'rous gifts. Grace smiles upon him;
Conversion tracks his footsteps: miracles
Spring from his touch; his sacred casuistry
Pours balm into despair. Consult with him.
Unfold th' impenetrable mystery,
That sets your soul and you at endless discord.

COUNTESS.
Consult a holy man! Inquire of him!
—Good father, wherefore? What should I inquire?[1]
Must I be taught of him, that guilt is woe?

  1. ↑ Imitated from Cato's speech in Lucan, beginning, Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes?

That

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