mber, in exchange for these you promise
To pardon all, and to obtain from Rome
A dispensation to my truant child.

_Sup._ I do!

_Inez._ Father, I'll send him to you. You'll
Rebuke him, but not harshly, for his soul
Is with his new found prospects all on fire. [_Exit Inez._

_Sup._ Now will our convent be the best endow'd
Of any in the land. This wild young hypocrite,
Who fears nor Heaven nor man, hath well assisted
My pious longing. More by the sins of men
Than their free gifts, our holy church doth prosper.
[_Enter Anselmo in cavalier's dress._
What do I see? One, that's in sanctity,
Who vow'd his service and his life to Heav'n,
In this attire. Heaven is most patient!

_Ans._ It is, good father, or this world of guilt
Had long been wither'd with the threaten'd fire.
My sins are monstrous, yet I am but one
Of many millions, erring as myself.
'Tis not for us to judge. He, who reads all
Our hearts, and knows how we've been tempted,
Alone can poise the even scale of justice.
If I'm to blame, good father, are not you?

_Sup._ How?

_Ans._ I had it from my mother, she reveal'd
To you her history, and did make known
The mark by which I might be recognised--
That mark, so oft the theme of idle wonder
In the convent. Before I took my vows
You therefore must have known my station,
The rank I held by birthright, and the name
Which I inherited. Why did you press me then
To take those vows? It was a rank injustice.

_Sup._ (_aside_). He argues boldly. (_Aloud_) 'Twere as well to say,
It were unjust to help you unto Heav'n--
I put you in the right path.

_Ans._ One too slippery. Father, I've stumbled.

_Sup._ You have. But that your fond and virtuous mother
Stretch'd forth her hand to save you, it had been
To your perdition.

_Ans._ I am so full of gratitude to Heaven,
I cannot cavil at the deeds of men.
Yet are we blind alike. You did intend
To serve me, and I thank you.

_Sup._ I'll serve you yet, my son. This very night
A message shall be forwarded to Rome.
Before a month is past you'll be absolved.
Till then return unto the monastery,
Resume your cowl, and bear yourself correctly.
A month will soon be o'er.

_Ans._ To one who is imprison'd, 'tis an age;
Yet is your counsel wise, and I obey you
With all humility.

_Sup._ 'Tis well, my son.
Your follies are unknown but to ourselves.
I shall expect you ere the night be past. [_Exit Superior._

_Ans._ "Stretch'd forth her