est, he is thine. Go to thy chamber,
Thither will I follow, that we some project
May devise, which shall remove all obstacle. [_Exit Isidora._
I like not this Don Gaspar, and my heart
Forebodes some evil nigh. I may be wrong,
But in my sear'd imagination,
He is some snake whose fascinating eyes,
Fix'd on my trembling bird, have drawn her down
Into his pois'nous fangs. How frail our sex!
Prudence may guard us from th' assaults of passion,
But storm'd the citadel, in woman's heart,
Victorious love admits no armistice
Or sway conjoint. He garrisons alone. [_Exit Inez._

_Act III. Scene I._

_The monastery.--Procession of monks, choristers, &c., returning from
performing service in the chapel.--The organ still playing in the chapel
within, Anselmo at the head of the choristers.--They pass on bowing to
the Superior, who, with Manuel, remain.--The organ ceases._

_Sup._ (_looking round_). Anselmo hath pass'd on. I do observe,
Of late he shuns communion. 'Tis most strange.
Say, Manuel, hast thou discover'd aught?
Doth he continue steadfast and devout?
Or, borne away by youthful phantasies,
Neglect the duties of our sacred order?

_Man._ He bears himself correctly, and e'er since
His last offence, when self-inflicted pain
Proved his contrition, he hath ever seem'd
To be absorb'd in holy meditation.

_Sup._ May this continue, he's of great import
To the well doing of our monastery----
Yet he hath not of late confess'd his sins.

_Man._ Perchance he hath not err'd. Forgive me, Heav'n,
Rash words like these when all are born to sin!
I deem'd that he had nothing to confess
Except the warring of his youthful passions,
O'er which he strives to hold dominion.

_Sup._ I would it were so; but, too frequently,
I do perceive a furtive glance of fire
From 'neath his fringed eyelash wildly start,
As does the lightning from a heavy cloud:
It doth denote strong passion--much too strong
For youthful resolution to control.

_Man._ Why then permit him to behold the world
And all its vanities? 'Tis true, our coffers
Are somewhat help'd by that he brings to them,
Instructing music, a gift from nature
In him most perfect. Were it not better
That he within our cloister'd gates should stay?

_Sup._ Then would he pine; for our monastic vows
Are much too harsh, too rigid save for those
Who, having proved the world, at length retire
When they have lost the appetite to sin.
There's much depending on the boy Anselmo;
He is a p