PRIOR.
Boy ! your bribes toucli not, nor your curses shake
The minister of Christ. Yet I will bear
Your message to the Landgrave.
PRINCE WILLIAM.
"Whet your tongue
Keen as the archangel's blade of truth — your
Be as God's thunder, and your heart one blaze —
Then can you speak my cause. With me, it needs
No plaasive gift; the smitten head, stopped throat,
Blind eyes and silent suppliance of sorrow
Persuade beyond all eloquence. Great God!
Here while I rage and beat against my bars,
The infernal fagots may be stacked for her.
The bell-spark kindled. Go to him, dear Prior,
Speak to him gently, be not too much moved,
'Neath its rude case you had ever a soft heart.
And he is stirred by mildness more than passion.
Recall to blm her round, clear, ardent eyes,
The shower of sunshine that 'b her hair, the sheen
Of the cream -white flesh — shall these things serve as fuel ?
Tell him that when she heard once he was wounded,
