Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/12

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THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER.
FLORIAN.In sooth, good friend, my knighthood is not school'dIn voluntary rigours—I can fast,March supperless, and make cold earth my pillow,When my companions know no choicer fare.But seldom roost in churches, or rejectThe ready banquet, or a willing fair one.
PORTER.Angels defend us! what a reprobate!Yon mould'ring porch for sixteen years and moreHas not been struck with such unhallow'd sounds.Hence to thy lewd companions!
FLORIAN.I cry you mercy; nor was't myFather greybeard,I cry you mercy; nor was't my intentionTo wound your reverence's saint-like organs.But come, thou hast known other days—canst tellOf banquettings and dancings—'twas not always thus.
PORTER.No, no—time was—my lord, the count of Narbonne,A prosperous gentleman, were he alive,We should not know these moping melancholies.Heav'n rest his soul! I marvel not my ladyCherishes his remembrance, for he wasComely to sight, and wond'rous goodly built.They say his son count Edmund's mainly like him.Would these old arms, that serv'd his grandfather,Could once enfold him! I should part in peace.
FLORIAN.What, if I bring thee tidings of count Edmund!
PORTER.Mercy befall me! now my dream is out.

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