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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
COUNTESS.
Thou art too modest. Praise is due to truth.
Thou shouldst not seek it; nor should I withhold it.
Thou art too modest. Praise is due to truth.
Thou shouldst not seek it; nor should I withhold it.
ADELIZA.
For pity, spare me.—No, my honour'd mistress,
I merit not—oh! no, my guilty heart
Deserves thy frowns—I cannot speak—
For pity, spare me.—No, my honour'd mistress,
I merit not—oh! no, my guilty heart
Deserves thy frowns—I cannot speak—
COUNTESS.
Be calm:
Thou know'st no guilt. Unfold thy lab'ring breast.
Say, am not I thy friend? Me canst thou fear?
Be calm:
Thou know'st no guilt. Unfold thy lab'ring breast.
Say, am not I thy friend? Me canst thou fear?
ADELIZA.
Can I fear ought beside? Fear ought but goodness?
Has not thy lavish bounty cloath'd me, fed me?
Hast thou not taught me virtue? Whom on earth,
But such a benefactress, such a friend,
Can Adeliza fear? Alas! she knows
No other friend! and christian fortitude
Dreads not a foe. Methinks I would have said
That christian innocence—but shame restrain'd
My conscious tongue—I am not innocent?
Can I fear ought beside? Fear ought but goodness?
Has not thy lavish bounty cloath'd me, fed me?
Hast thou not taught me virtue? Whom on earth,
But such a benefactress, such a friend,
Can Adeliza fear? Alas! she knows
No other friend! and christian fortitude
Dreads not a foe. Methinks I would have said
That christian innocence—but shame restrain'd
My conscious tongue—I am not innocent?
COUNTESS.
Thou dearest, orphan, to my bosom come,
And vent thy little sorrows. Purity
Like thine affrights itself with fancied guilt.
I'll be thy confessor; and trust me, love,
Thy penance will be light.
Thou dearest, orphan, to my bosom come,
And vent thy little sorrows. Purity
Like thine affrights itself with fancied guilt.
I'll be thy confessor; and trust me, love,
Thy penance will be light.
ADELIZA.
In vain you chear me.
Say, what is guilt, but to have known a thought
I blush'd to tell thee? To have lent mine ear,
For three long weeks, to sounds I did not wish
My patroness should hear! Ah! when till now
In vain you chear me.
Say, what is guilt, but to have known a thought
I blush'd to tell thee? To have lent mine ear,
For three long weeks, to sounds I did not wish
My patroness should hear! Ah! when till now
Have