POPE CELESTIN AND GIORDANO
Gio. These matters are but shadows of the truth,
Mean indications; time will shew, my lord,
Our wrong lies deeper.
Cel.Proofs—ay, proofs you say—
Let me see that, sir: I'll believe your proof:
What must I do? what stirs you up to give
This dead dissension teeth to bite again?
And I am old; my body is no wall
For you to shoot behind at emperors:
Ay, the keen spirit eats the flesh like fire,
It's mere slow poison, this my dignity,
Consumes me; ah, you're just a man, my Count,
Cannot conceive how God's will overcomes,
How the Church bears one's very soul to hold
And stoops the shoulders; then, we're set to pray
Save you your souls, gather you fruit of prayer,
Not whet you fresh blades when blood mars the old:
Ah, what must we do?
Gio. But, your Holiness
Mean indications; time will shew, my lord,
Our wrong lies deeper.
Cel.Proofs—ay, proofs you say—
Let me see that, sir: I'll believe your proof:
What must I do? what stirs you up to give
This dead dissension teeth to bite again?
And I am old; my body is no wall
For you to shoot behind at emperors:
Ay, the keen spirit eats the flesh like fire,
It's mere slow poison, this my dignity,
Consumes me; ah, you're just a man, my Count,
Cannot conceive how God's will overcomes,
How the Church bears one's very soul to hold
And stoops the shoulders; then, we're set to pray
Save you your souls, gather you fruit of prayer,
Not whet you fresh blades when blood mars the old:
Ah, what must we do?
Gio. But, your Holiness
120
