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FRIAR.

My son, this is wild ecstasy of passion,

Which leads not to that humble true repentance
Our holy church enjoins.

HENRIQUEZ (returning).

Or had I met him as an open foe,

With accusation of defiance fairly
Preceding vengeance; but unheard, i' th' dark!
Tremble, ye venerable roofs, ye towers
Of my brave fathers, men without reproach!
Fall on my cursed head, and grind to dust
What bears the honour'd semblance of their son,
Although unmeet to bear the human form.

FRIAR.

Nay, nay! I pray forbear; this violent grief

For thy soul's weal is most unprofitable.
Betake thyself betimes to prayer and penance.
The sufferings of the body will relieve
The suff'rings of the mind.

HENRIQUEZ.

The sufferings of the body! They are powerless. (Shewing his hand.)

See here, short while, in agony of thought,

Pacing the armory where hangs the mail
Which Juen wore, when in Tolosa's field
We fought the turban'd Moslems side by side;
It was his gift, which I did beg of him,