_Pal._ Ay, I was wrong. Now must I ask his pardon. I am not yet fit to die. Yet is’t not written “_If hand or foot offend thee, cut it off; If thine eye, pluck it out_”? I have done all this; Yet lurks there something in the accusing balance Which my soul sickens at. What if I have lost My world and soul? This good priest comes in time. _Enter Manuel disguised as priest._ Father, if thou be come to shrive my soul, 2252 I need thee sorely. _MANUEL._ I am here for that. _Pal._ There’s comfort in thy face. I have much to tell. Thou know’st me, who I am? _Man._ Ay, son. _Pal._ I pray What said the archbishop of me? _Man._ Pause not now To ask and weigh man’s judgment, who so soon Must answer to the Judge of all. _Pal._ Nay, nay. If thou bring hither such a thought of me, What can I tell thee? How shall I begin? 2260 _Man._ If there be any one thing on your mind, More than another, which now brings you shame, Begin with that. _Pal._ Ay: such a thing there is. _Man._ What is’t? _Pal._ ’Tis the story of the mischief, Which makes me need thee; which hath sent me here. For I was single-hearted, single-eyed, As thou or any of the saints, who hold Their place in heaven secure, three days ago,— But three days: If thou then hadst come to me I should have said, My sins are all forgiven; 2270 I only beg of thee the heavenly bread To be my passport to my home prepared. My earthly sword hath won a heavenly crown. I have not left undone aught, save where God’s will Forbade accomplishment, and if I have done Aught unpermitted ’twas in zeal’s excess. My errors are the saints’—three days ago ... And now my boast is gone, my soul is stained. Hark, while I tell. Satan, who saw me thus Pure-hearted and elect, an envied prey, 2280 Used all his skill to take me: Ay, he came And showed me, in the room where I lay sick, Wounded, and weak and faint, a beauteous woman, And all love’s world. He said, _Take this_; but I Was ready awhile, and answered, _Not for me. I thread the narrow way; I climb at heaven. If I touch this, I perish._ But he said, _Not so, ’tis thy due prize. Take it, Palicio_! ’Twas the old tale—“Thou shalt not surely die.” I took it. God deserted me that hour: 2290 My friends suspected me: all things went ill: And now ... _Man._ Stay. First, this woman, who misled you, Is she your wife? _Pal._ Nay, ’tis but now three days ...