Page:A Series of Plays on the Passions Volume 3.pdf/305

These petty cares are grown most irksome to me;
I cannot hear thee now.

Bast. Indeed, my Lord, it is no petty care
Compels me to intrude. Within your port
A vessel from the holy land has moor'd.

Ul. (starting.) Warriors from Palestine?

Bast.No, good my Lord!
The holy legate on his way to Rome;
Who, by late tempests driven on our coasts,
Means here his shatter'd pinnace to refit,
And give refreshment to his weary train.

Ul. In evil hour he comes to lord it here.

Bast. He doth appear a meek and peaceful man.

Ul. 'Tis seeming all. I would with mailed foes
Far rather in th' embattled plain contend
Than strive with such my peaceful town within.
Already landed say'st thou?

Bast. Yes, from the beach their grave procession comes.
Between our gazing sight and the bright deep,
That glows behind them in the western sun,
Crosses and spears and croziers shew aloft
Their darken'd spikes, in most distinct confusion;
While grey-cowl'd monks, and purple-stoled priests,
And crested chiefs a closing group below,
Motley and garish, yet right solemn too,
Move slowly on.—

Ul. Then must I haste to meet them.