Well! have you found the Secret of my Dream,
By all your Cries, and Howls, and Sweats, and Prayers?
Or is the Meaning still conceal'd from Man,
And only known to Genii and the Gods?
Conjurer.
Two Hours I've lain within the sultry Stove,
While Floods of Sweat ran trickling from my Skin;
With Howls and Cries and all the Force of Sound
Have I invok'd your Genius and my own,
Smote on my Breast, and beat against my Head,
To move an Answer, and the Secret learn.
But all in vain, no Answer can I have,
Till I first learn what secret Purposes
And great Designs are brooding in your Mind.
Priest.
At our pure Virgin's Shrine I've bowed my Knees,
And there in fervent Prayer pour'd out my Soul;
Call'd on Saint Peter, call'd on all the Saints
That know the Secrets both of Heaven and Earth,
And can reveal what Gods themselves can do:
I've us'd the Arts of our most holy Mother,
Which I receiv'd when I forsook the World,
And gave myself to Holiness and Heaven;
But can't obtain the Secret of your Dream,
Till I first know the Secrets of your Heart,
Or what you hope or wish to be effected.
'Tis on these Terms we learn the Will of God,
What Good or Ill awaits on Kings or Kingdoms;
And without this, St. Peter's Self can't tell,
But at a Dream like yours would be confounded.
Ponteach.
You're well agreed—Our Gods are much alike—
And I suspect both Rogues—What! won't they tell!
Should they betray my Scheme, the whole is blown.
And yet I fain would know. I'll charge them first.
Look here; if I disclose a Secret to you,
Tell it to none but silent honest Gods;
Death to you both, if you reveal to Men.
Both.
We will, we will, the Gods alone shall know.
Ponteach.