“I do not regard that design as sinful,” said Carver. “Repentance, therefore, is uncalled for.” “And you believe yourself to be religious, mistaken man,” rejoined Pole. “I tell you, if you die in this impenitent state, you will perish everlastingly. You are so blinded by pride and vain-glory that you cannot discern evil from good, and persuade yourself that you are actuated by high and noble motives, when in reality your motives are sinful and damnable. You are nothing more than an execrable assassin; so hardened in guilt that your heart is inaccessible to virtuous and honourable feelings. True religion you have none. You profess to believe in the tenets of the Gospel, yet practise them not. Our blessed Saviour would never number you among his followers, but would cast you off as an unprofitable and faithless servant. You reject truths you do not understand, treat sacred rites as superstitious, and revile those who differ from you in opinion. Go to! you ask for death, and yet you are unfit to die.” “It is not for you to pass sentence upon me,” said Carver. “Heaven, to whom my secret motives are known, will judge me.” “And condemn you, if you repent not,” said Pole, “for your soul is charged with heavy offences. As I am informed by those who have heard you, you have prayed for her Majesty’s destruction.” “I have prayed Heaven to touch her heart, so as to cause her to abandon idolatry, or to abridge her days,” rejoined Carver. “Better she be removed than false gods be set up in our temples.” “And know you not that by giving utterance to such a prayer you incur the doom of a traitor?” said Pole. “Your offences are so rank and monstrous, that unless you exhibit some penitence, I cannot intercede in your behalf with her Majesty.” “I ask for no grace from her, and expect none,” replied Carver. “Had I twenty lives, I would lay them down for my religion and for my country. We have been delivered to a foreign yoke. But it will not bind us long.” “Peace!” cried Rodomont. “Knowest thou not that thou art in the presence of the King?” “I know it well, and therefore I speak out,” rejoined Carver. “I tell this proud Prince of Spain that England will never submit to his hateful and tyrannous rule. The country will rise up against him, and cast him off. He persuades himself that a son will be born to him, and that through that son he will govern. But he is puffed up with vain hopes. Heaven will refuse him issue.” “Ha! this passes all endurance,” cried Philip. “Have I touched thee, tyrant?” pursued Carver, exultingly. “Heaven, I repeat, will refuse thee issue. The support on which thou countest will be taken from thee. Didst thou dare make the attempt, the accursed Inquisition would at this moment be established amongst us. Thou hast it in reserve for a future day, but ere that day arrives thy perfidy will be discovered. False to thy oaths, faithless to thy Queen, treacherous to all, thou shalt meet thy just reward.”