What warrant holds he, human or divine?
Whatever move him—if he serve your father,
Or deem that gifts like those he fancies mine,
May worthier prove, devoted to the Church,
Is he in this our final arbiter?—
Have I no judgment?—are not you of age?
Pauline, but heed me; let no power, I beg,
Succeed in sundering us. Heaven hears my words
I fear some plot may crush, or make your soul
(God save you if you yield) a mere bent truck