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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
EDMUND.
'Tis false; I will not hence.
I have been fool'd too long, too long been patient.
Nor are my years so green as to endure
The manacles of priests and nurseries.
Am I not Narbonne's prince? who shall rule here
But Narbonne? Have I sapp'd my country's laws,
Or play'd the tyrant? Who shall banish me?
Am I a recreant knight? Has cowardice
Disgrac'd the line of heroes I am sprung from?
Shall I then skulk, hide my inglorious head?
Or does it please your worship's gravity
Dispatch me on some sleeveless pilgrimage,
Like other noble fools, to win you empires;
While you at home mock our credulity,
The masters of our wealth, our states, and wives?
'Tis false; I will not hence.
I have been fool'd too long, too long been patient.
Nor are my years so green as to endure
The manacles of priests and nurseries.
Am I not Narbonne's prince? who shall rule here
But Narbonne? Have I sapp'd my country's laws,
Or play'd the tyrant? Who shall banish me?
Am I a recreant knight? Has cowardice
Disgrac'd the line of heroes I am sprung from?
Shall I then skulk, hide my inglorious head?
Or does it please your worship's gravity
Dispatch me on some sleeveless pilgrimage,
Like other noble fools, to win you empires;
While you at home mock our credulity,
The masters of our wealth, our states, and wives?
COUNTESS.
Aside.] (Brave youth! there spoke his fire. How my soul yearns
To own its genuine offspring!)—Edmund, hear me!
Thou art my son, and I will prove a mother.
But I'm thy sov'reign too. This state is mine.
Learn to command, by learning to obey.
Tho' frail my sex, I have a soul as masculine
As any of thy race. This very monk,
Lord as thou thinkest of my ductile conscience,
Quails—look if 'tis not true—when I command.
Retire thee to the village. 'Tis not ripe
As yet my purpose—Benedict, attend me.
To-morrow, Edmund, shalt thou learn my pleasure.
[Ex. Countess and Benedict.
Aside.] (Brave youth! there spoke his fire. How my soul yearns
To own its genuine offspring!)—Edmund, hear me!
Thou art my son, and I will prove a mother.
But I'm thy sov'reign too. This state is mine.
Learn to command, by learning to obey.
Tho' frail my sex, I have a soul as masculine
As any of thy race. This very monk,
Lord as thou thinkest of my ductile conscience,
Quails—look if 'tis not true—when I command.
Retire thee to the village. 'Tis not ripe
As yet my purpose—Benedict, attend me.
To-morrow, Edmund, shalt thou learn my pleasure.
[Ex. Countess and Benedict.
EDMUND, alone.
Why, this is majesty. Sounds of such accent
Why, this is majesty. Sounds of such accent
Ne'er