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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.

SCENE III.

COUNTESS, BENEDICT.

BENEDICT.
Rest on this dwelling!The dew of grace
Rest on this dwelling!

COUNTESS.
Rest on this dwelling!Thanks, my ghostly friend.
But sure, or I mistake, in your sad eye
I spell affliction's signature. What woes
Call for the scanty balm this hand can pour?

BENEDICT.
You, lady, and you only need that balm.

COUNTESS.
To tutor my unapt and ill-school'd nature
You come then—Good, my confessor, a truce
With doctrines and authority. If ought
Can medicate a soul unsound like mine,
Good deeds must operate the healthful change,
And penance cleanse it to receive the blessing.
Shall I for faith, shall I, for but believing
What 'tis my int'rest to believe, efface
The stains, which, tho' believing, I contracted?

BENEDICT.
Lady, your subtle wit, like daring infants,
Sports with a weight will crush it—but no more,
It is not mine to argue, but pronounce.
The church, on rock of adamant establish'd,
Now inch by inch disputes not its domain.
Heav'n's law promulg'd, it rests obedience follow.
And when supreme It taxes that obedience,

Not

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