BEL. I am by birth, my lord, a Spaniard born,
And by descent came of a noble house;
Though, for the love I bare[437] to secret arts,
I never car'd to seek for vain estate,
Yet by my skill I have increas'd my wealth.
My name Castiliano, and my birth
No baser than the best blood of Castile.
Hearing your daughter's strange infirmity,
Join'd with such matchless beauty and rare virtue,
I cross'd the seas on purpose for her good.
DUN. Fond man, presuming on thy weaker skill,
That think'st by art to overrule the heavens!
Thou know'st not what it is thou undertak'st.
No, no, my lord, your daughter must be cur'd
By fasting, prayer, and religious works;
Myself for her will sing a solemn mass,
And give her three sips of the holy chalice;
And turn my beads with aves and with creeds:
And thus, my lord, your daughter must be help'd.
CAS. 'Zounds, what a prating keeps the bald-pate friar!
My lord, my lord, here's church-work for an age?
Tush! I will cure her in a minute's space,
That she shall speak as plain as you or I.
[DUNSTAN' harp sounds on the wall.
FOR. Hark, hark, my lord! the holy abbot's harp
Sounds by itself so hanging on the wall!
DUN. Unhallowed man, that scorn'st the sacred rede,[438]
Hark how the testimony of my truth
Sounds heavenly music with an angel's hand,
To testify Dunstan's integrity,
And prove thy active boast of no effect.
CAS. Tush, sir, that music was to welcome me!
The harp hath got another master now;
I warrant you, 'twill never tune you more.
DUN. Who should be master of my harp but I?
CAS. Try, then, what service it will do for you.
[He tries to play, but cannot.