The Mysterious Mother/Act 4 Scene 1
ACT the FOURTH.
The SCENE continues.
BENEDICT, MARTIN.
MARTIN.
I know thy spirit well; know how it labours,
When curb'd and driv'n to wear the mask of art.
But till this hour I have not seen thy passions
Boil o'er the bounds of prudence. So impetuous,
And so reserv'd!
I know thy spirit well; know how it labours,
When curb'd and driv'n to wear the mask of art.
But till this hour I have not seen thy passions
Boil o'er the bounds of prudence. So impetuous,
And so reserv'd!
BENEDICT.
Mistake me not, good brother:
I want no confidence: I know thy faith.
But can I to thy naked eye unfold,
What I dare scarce reveal to my own bosom?
I would not know one half that I suspect,
Till I have acted as if not suspecting.
Mistake me not, good brother:
I want no confidence: I know thy faith.
But can I to thy naked eye unfold,
What I dare scarce reveal to my own bosom?
I would not know one half that I suspect,
Till I have acted as if not suspecting.
MARTIN.
How, brother! thou a casuist! and apply
To thy own breast those damning subtleties,
Which cowards with half-winking consciences
Purchase of us, when they would sin secure,
And hope the penalty will all be ours!
How, brother! thou a casuist! and apply
To thy own breast those damning subtleties,
Which cowards with half-winking consciences
Purchase of us, when they would sin secure,
And hope the penalty will all be ours!
BENEDICT.
Brother, this moment is too big with action
To waste on bootless curiosity.
When I try sins upon the touchstone conscience,
It is for others use, not for my own.
'Tis time enough to make up our account,
When we confess and kneel for absolution.
Brother, this moment is too big with action
To waste on bootless curiosity.
When I try sins upon the touchstone conscience,
It is for others use, not for my own.
'Tis time enough to make up our account,
When we confess and kneel for absolution.
MARTIN.
Still does thy genius soar above mankind!
How many fathers of our holy church
In Benedict I view!
Still does thy genius soar above mankind!
How many fathers of our holy church
In Benedict I view!
BENEDICT.
No flattery, brother.
'Tis true the church owes Benedict some thanks,
For her, I have forgot I am a man.
For her, each virtue from my breast I banish.
No laws I know but her prosperity;
No country, but her boundless acquisitions.
Who dares be true to country, king, or friend,
If enemies to Rome, are Benedict's foes.
No flattery, brother.
'Tis true the church owes Benedict some thanks,
For her, I have forgot I am a man.
For her, each virtue from my breast I banish.
No laws I know but her prosperity;
No country, but her boundless acquisitions.
Who dares be true to country, king, or friend,
If enemies to Rome, are Benedict's foes.
MARTIN.
Has it then gone so far? Does she speak out?
Is Edmund too infected with like errors?
Has it then gone so far? Does she speak out?
Is Edmund too infected with like errors?
BENEDICT.
Both, brother, both are thinking heretics.
I could forgive them, did some upstart sect
With sharper rigours charm their headlong zeal.
But they, in sooth, must reason—curses light
On the proud talent! 'twill at last undo us.
When men are gorged with each absurdity
Their subtle wits can frame, or we adopt;
For very novelty they will fly to sense,
And we shall fall before that idol, fashion.
Both, brother, both are thinking heretics.
I could forgive them, did some upstart sect
With sharper rigours charm their headlong zeal.
But they, in sooth, must reason—curses light
On the proud talent! 'twill at last undo us.
When men are gorged with each absurdity
Their subtle wits can frame, or we adopt;
For very novelty they will fly to sense,
And we shall fall before that idol, fashion.
MARTIN.
Fear not a reign so transient. Statesmen too
Will join to stem the torrent: or new follies
Replace the old. Each chieftain that attacks us
Must grow the pope of his own heresy.
E'en stern philosophy, if once triumphant,
Shall frame some jargon, and exact obedience
To metaphysic nonsense worse than ours.
The church is but a specious name for empire,
And will exist wherever fools have fears.
Rome is no city; 'tis the human heart;
And there suffice it if we plant our banners.
Each priest cannot command—and thence come sects.
Obdurate Zeno and our great Augustine
Are of one faith, and differ but for power.
Fear not a reign so transient. Statesmen too
Will join to stem the torrent: or new follies
Replace the old. Each chieftain that attacks us
Must grow the pope of his own heresy.
E'en stern philosophy, if once triumphant,
Shall frame some jargon, and exact obedience
To metaphysic nonsense worse than ours.
The church is but a specious name for empire,
And will exist wherever fools have fears.
Rome is no city; 'tis the human heart;
And there suffice it if we plant our banners.
Each priest cannot command—and thence come sects.
Obdurate Zeno and our great Augustine
Are of one faith, and differ but for power.
BENEDICT.
So be it—therefore interest bids us crush
This cockatrice and her egg: or we shall see
The singing saints of Savoy's neighb'ring vale
Fly to the covert of her shadowy wings,
And foil us at our own dexterity.
Already to those vagrants she inclines;
As if the rogues, that preach reform to others,
Like idiots, minded to reform themselves.
So be it—therefore interest bids us crush
This cockatrice and her egg: or we shall see
The singing saints of Savoy's neighb'ring vale
Fly to the covert of her shadowy wings,
And foil us at our own dexterity.
Already to those vagrants she inclines;
As if the rogues, that preach reform to others,
Like idiots, minded to reform themselves.
MARTIN.
Be cautious, brother: you may lose the lady.
Be cautious, brother: you may lose the lady.
BENEDICT.
She is already lost—or ne'er was ours.
I cannot dupe, and therefore must destroy her:
Involve her house in ruin so prodigious,
That neither she nor Edmund may survive it,
She is already lost—or ne'er was ours.
I cannot dupe, and therefore must destroy her:
Involve her house in ruin so prodigious,
That neither she nor Edmund may survive it,
MARTIN.
How may this be accomplish'd?
How may this be accomplish'd?
BENEDICT.
Ask me not.
From hints long treasur'd up, from broken phrase
In frenzy dropp'd, but vibrating from truth:
Nay, from her caution to explain away
What the late tempest of her soul had utter'd,
I guess her fatal secret—or, no matter—
Say, I do not—by what she has forbidden,
I know what should be done—then haste thee, brother;
Facilitate count Edmund's interview
With Adeliza; nourish their young passion—
Curse them—and if you can—why—join their hands.
Ask me not.
From hints long treasur'd up, from broken phrase
In frenzy dropp'd, but vibrating from truth:
Nay, from her caution to explain away
What the late tempest of her soul had utter'd,
I guess her fatal secret—or, no matter—
Say, I do not—by what she has forbidden,
I know what should be done—then haste thee, brother;
Facilitate count Edmund's interview
With Adeliza; nourish their young passion—
Curse them—and if you can—why—join their hands.
MARTIN.
I tremble!
I tremble!
BENEDICT.
Dastard, tremble, if we fail.
What can we fear, when we have ruin'd them?
(A deep-toned voice is heard.)
Forbear!
Dastard, tremble, if we fail.
What can we fear, when we have ruin'd them?
(A deep-toned voice is heard.)
Forbear!
BENEDICT.
Ha! whence that sound!
(Voice again.) Forbear!
Ha! whence that sound!
(Voice again.) Forbear!
BENEDICT.
Again!
Comes it from heav'n or hell?
(Voice again.) Forbear!
Again!
Comes it from heav'n or hell?
(Voice again.) Forbear!
MARTIN.
Good angels,
Protect me!—Benedict, thy unholy purpose—
Good angels,
Protect me!—Benedict, thy unholy purpose—