GARCIO.
I know that in my lonely state of penitence,
Sever'd from earthly bliss, I to thy mind
Shall be like one whom death hath purified.
O that, indeed, or death or any suff'rings,
By earthly frame or frameless spirit endured,
Could give me such a nature as again
Might be with thine united!
Could I but forward look and trust to this,
Whatever suff'rings of a lengthen'd life
Before me lay would be to me as nothing;
As the rough billows of some stormy frith,
Upon whose further shore fair regions smile;
As the rent shroudings of a murky cloud,
Thro' which the mountain traveller, as he bends
His mantled shoulders to the pelting storm,
Sees sunny brightness peer. Could I but think—
COUNTESS.
Trust to it surely. Deep as thy repentance,
Aspiring be thy faith!
GARCIO.
Strong as my penitence, 't were well indeed.
My scourge and bed of earth would then be temper'd
Almost to happiness.
