Page:The Mysterious Mother - Walpole (1781).djvu/25

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A TRAGEDY.
17
I pardon them. Illy of me you deem;I know it, lady. 'Tis humiliation:As such I bow to it—yet dear I tenderYour peace of mind. Dismiss your worthless servant:His pray'rs shall still be yours.
COUNTESS.Discretion does not guide mForgive me, father:Discretion does not guide my words. I meantNo insult on your holy character.
BENEDICT.No, lady; chuse some other monitor,Whose virtues may command your estimation.Your useless beadsman shall behold with joyA worthier man mediate your peace with heav'n.
COUNTESS.Alas! till reconcil'd with my own breastWhat peace is there for me!
BENEDICT.There lives a holy man, whIn th' neighb'ring districtThere lives a holy man, whose sanctityIs mark'd with wond'rous gifts. Grace smiles upon him;Conversion tracks his footsteps: miraclesSpring from his touch; his sacred casuistryPours balm into despair. Consult with him.Unfold th' impenetrable mystery,That sets your soul and you at endless discord.
COUNTESS.Consult a holy man! Inquire of him!—Good father, wherefore? What should I inquire?[1]Must I be taught of him, that guilt is woe?
  1. ↑ Imitated from Cato's speech in Lucan, beginning, Quid quæri, Labiene, jubes?

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