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The Doctor.
[To Agnes]
You hapless blossom, laid within
The pitiless grasp of such a lord!
Brand.
I am not pitiless.
Agnes.
He had pour'd
His blood, to wash her soul from sin
Brand.
Unask'd, upon myself I took
The clearance of her debit-book.
The Doctor.
Clear off your own!
Brand.
<g>One</g> man may get
Hundreds acquitted, in God's eyes.
The Doctor.
Ay; not a Beggar though, who lies
Himself o'er head and ears in debt.
Brand.
Beggar or rich,—with all my soul
I <g>will</g>;—and that one thing's the <g>whole</g>
The Doctor.
Yes, in you ledger, truly, Will
Has enough entries and to spare:
But, priest, your <g>Love</g>-account is still
A virgin-chapter, blank and bare. [Goes.
