The death-blow to his heart? Cheat not thy soul
With empty dreams— -thy Grod hath judged thee guilty!
MARIA.
Have pity, father I Let me tell thee all.
Thou, cloistered, holy and austere, know’st not
My guttering temptations. My betrayer
Was of an angel's aspect. His were all gifts.
All grace, all seeming virtue. I was plunged.
Deaf, dumb, and blind, and hand-bound in the deep.
If a poor drowning creature craved thine aid.
Thou wouldst not spurn it. Such a one am I,
And all the waves roll over me. Help, help !
Let me not perish ! Wrest me from my doom !
Say not that I am lost !
MONK.
I can but say
What the just Spirit prompts. Myself am naught
To pardon or condemn. The sin is sinned;
The fruit forbid is tasted, yea, and pressed
Of its last honeyed juices. Wilt thou now
Escape the after-bitterness with prayers,
Scourgings, and wringings of the hands? Shall these
Undo what has been done ? — make whole the heart
