Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/40

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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
Abates its clamours, yonder angry clouds
Are big with spouting fires—do not go forth.

COUNTESS.
Wretches like me, good Peter, dread no storms.
'Tis delicate felicity that shrinks,
When rocking winds are loud, and wraps itself
Insultingly in comfortable furs,
Thinking how many naked objects want
Like shelter and security. Do thou
Return; I'll seek the monument alone.

PORTER.
No, my good lady; never be it said
That faithful Peter his dear mistress left
Expos'd to tempests. These thin-sprinkled hairs
Cannot hold long. If in your service shed,
'Twere a just debt—hark! sure I heard a groan!
Pray let us in again—

COUNTESS.
Pray let us in again—My honest servant,
Thy fear o'er-pow'rs thy love. I heard no groan;
Nor could it 'scape a sense so quick as mine
At catching misery's expressive note:
'Tis my soul's proper language.—Injur'd shade!
Shade of my Narbonne! if thy scornful spirit
Rode in yon whirlwind, and impell'd its bolt
Implacable! indignant! 'gainst the cross
Rais'd by thy wretched wife—behold she comes
A voluntary victim! Re-assemble
Thy light'nings, and accept her destin'd head.

PORTER.
For pity! gracious dame what words are these!
In any mouth less holy they would seem
A magic incantation. Goblins rise

At

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