Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/13

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A TRAGEDY.
5
Last night the raven croak'd, and from the barsOf our lodge-fire flitted a messenger—I knew no good would follow—bring you ill tidings,Sir gentleman?
FLORIAN.Or solemn knave(This is a solemn fool, [Aside.
Or solemn knave.) Shouldst thou indeed rejoiceTo see count Edmund? Would thy noble mistressSpring with a mother's joy to clasp her son?
PORTER.Oh! no, no, no.—He must not here—alas!He must not here set foot—But tell me, stranger,I prithee say, does my old master's heirStill breathe this vital air? Is he in France?Is he within some ten, or twenty leagues,Or fifty? I am hearty yet, have all my limbs,And I would make a weary pilgrimageTo kiss his gracious hand, and at his feetLay my old bones—for here I ne'er must see him.[Weeps.

FLORIAN.Thou good old man, forgive a soldier's mirth.But say, why Narbonne's heir from Narbonne's landsIs banish'd, driven by a ruthless mother?
PORTER.Ah! sir, 'tis hard indeed—but spare his mother;Such virtue never dwelt in female form.Count Edmund—but he was indeed a stripling,A very lad—it was the trick of youth,And we have all our sins, or we have had;Yet still no pardon—Thinkst thou not, my lord,My late kind master, e'er he knew my lady,Wist not what woman was?—I warrant him—

But

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