Theod. No miracle,

   But common chance. A warlike bark of Spain

   Bore down, and seiz'd our vessel, as we rov'd

   Intent on spoil: (for many times, alas!

   Was I compell'd to join their hated league,

   And strike with infidels.) My country known,

   The courteous captain sent me to the shore;

   Where, vain were my fond hopes to find my father:

   'Twas desolation all: a few poor swains

   Told me, the rumour ran he had renounc'd

   A hated world, and here in Languedoc,

   Devoted his remains of life to Heaven.

 Aust. They told thee truth; and Heaven shall have my prayers,

   My soul pour'd out in endless gratitude,

   For this unhoped, immeasurable blessing.

 Count. Thus far, fond man! I have listen'd to the tale;

[pg 37]

[pg 37]

   And think it, as it is, a gross contrivance—

   A trick, devis'd to cheat my credulous reason,

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