Con. Children, I am the servant of Christ’s servants—And needs must yield to those who may commandBy right of creed; I do accept your bounty—Not for myself, but for that priceless name,Whose dread authority and due commission,Attested by the seal of His vicegerent,I bear unworthy here; through my vile lipsChrist and His vicar thank you; on myself—And these, my brethren, Christ’s adopted poor—A menial’s crust, and some waste nook, or dog-hutch,Wherein the worthless flesh may nightly hide,Are best bestowed.

Eliz. You shall be where you will—Do what you will; unquestioned, unobserved,Enjoy, refrain; silence and solitude,The better part which such like spirits choose,We will provide; only be you our master,And we your servants, for a few short days:Oh, blessed days!

Con. Ah, be not hasty, madam;Think whom you welcome; one who has no skillTo wink and speak smooth things; whom fear of GodConstrains to daily wrath; who brings, alas!A sword, not peace: within whose bones the wordBurns like a pent-up fire, and makes him boldIf aught in you or yours shall seem amiss,To cry aloud and spare not; let me go—To pray for you—as I have done long time,Is sweeter than to chide you.

Eliz. Then your prayersShall drive home your rebukes; for both we need you—Our snares are many, and our sins are more.So say not nay—I’ll speak with you apart.

[Elizabeth and Conrad retire.]

Lewis [aside]. Well, Walter mine, how like you the good legate?

Wal. Walter has seen nought of him but his eye;And that don’t please him.

Lewis. How so, sir! that faceIs pure and meek—a calm and thoughtful eye.

Wal. A shallow, stony, steadfast eye; that looks at neither man nor beast in the face, but at something invisible a yard before him, through you and past you, at a fascination, a ghost of fixed purposes that haunts him, from which neither reason nor pity will turn him. I have seen such an eye in men possessed—with devils, or with self: sleek, passionless men, who are too refined to be manly, and measure their grace by their effeminacy; crooked vermin, who swarm up in pious times, being drowned out of their earthly haunts by the spring-tide of religion; and so making a gain of godliness, swim upon the first of the flood, till it cast them ashore on the firm beach of wealth and station. I 

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