Aust. A venerable law!

   The law by which the tiger tears the lamb,

   And kites devour the dove. A lord of France,

   Dress'd in a little delegated sway,

   Strikes at his sovereign's face, while he profanes

[pg 33]

[pg 33]

  His functions, trusted for the general good.

 Count. I answer not to thee.

 Aust. Answer to Heaven.

  When call'd to audit in that sacred court,

  Will that supremacy accept thy plea,

  "I did commit foul murder, for I might?"

 Count. Soar not too high; talk of the things of earth.

  I'll give thee ear. Has not thy penitent,

  Young Isabel, disclos'd her passion to thee?

 Aust. Never.

 Count. Just now, her coldness to my son,

  You said, bespoke her heart preoccupied.

  The frail and fair make you their oracles;

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