“Cease thy babbling, Father Olyver,” replied the prince. “ D— it, man, all must die. The death of another son, thou senseless priest, only diminishes my responsibility as a father, and now I shall have more to leave to the survivors.”
“Pray, don’t speak thus, my lord, of your child. The fruit of your loins should ever be regarded with affection.”
“I loved the boy when living, Father Olyver. But now, man, he has ceased to live; the spirit, the soul, has gone; a clod of earth only remains.”
“Be it so, my lord. Yet I must own that I look on his untimely end as a terrible warning to you. The event tells you to set your house in order, for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of man cometh.”
“All right, Father Olyver. I suppose, when He comes, I must go like the rest, in spite of the saints and mother Church.”
“But are you prepared, my prince, when the voice calls?”
“Of course I am, father. Let his majesty come whenever he pleases, I’ll accompany him.”
“Are you ready, my dear prince, to appear, without fear, before your God when He calls you hence?”
“There are beautiful maidens, too, father, before whom I must and delight to appear, after my evening’s carousals! Ah! ah! ah! I’ll be bound that even you, Father Olyver, with your sanctimonious jib, are not indifferent to the smiles of a pretty wench, and you won’t turn away when you happen to have a glimpse of a fine ankle. Human nature is human nature all the world over. I warrant priests of mother Church don’t always keep it in subjection. Oh! Oh!”
“This is not the time, nor is it a fitting occasion, my lord, to indulge in such language,” replied the priest. “For one day, at least, especially in the presence of the dead, I beseech you to cease speaking thus.”