Sil. Oh my Saint.
Bel. Wear it nobly, do not faint.
Sil. How blest am I in this rich spoil, this Picture,
For ever will I keep it here, here Mother,
For ever honor it: how oft, how chastly
Have I embrac'd the life of this, and kist it!
Bel. The day draws on that thou must home return,
And make thy answer to the Dutchess question
I know it troubles thee, for if thou fail in't.
Sil. Oh, I must dye.
Bel. Fear not, fear not, I'll be nigh,
Cast thy trouble on my back, Art nor cunning shall not lack,
To preserve thee, still to keep, what thy envious foemen seek;
Go boldly home, and let thy mind, no distrustful crosses find:
All shall happen for the best; souls walk through sorrows that are blest.
Sil. Then I go confident.
Bel. But first my Son, a thankful service must be done,
The good old woman for her pain, when every thing stands fair again,
Must ask a poor Boon, and that granting, there's nothing to thy journey wanting.
Sil. Except the trial of my soul to mischief,
And as I am a Knight, and love mine honor,
I grant it whatsoever.
Bel. Thy pure soul
Shall never sink for me, nor howl.