_Osorio (returning)._ All very curious! from a ruin'd abbey Pluck'd in the moonlight. There's a strange power in weeds 210 When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er them. Then they work miracles! I warrant you, There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks Some serviceable imp. There's one of you, Who sent me a strange message. _Albert._ I am he! 215 _Osorio._ I will speak with you, and by yourself. [_Exit MAURICE._ _Osorio._ 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard, But one that strips the outward rind of things! _Albert._ 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds 220 That are all dust and rottenness within. Would'st thou I should strip such? _Osorio._ Thou quibbling fool, What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journey'd hither To sport with thee? _Albert._ No, no! my lord! to sport Best fits the gaiety of innocence! 225 _Osorio (draws back as if stung and embarrassed, then folding his arms)._ O what a thing is Man! the wisest heart A fool--a fool, that laughs at its own folly, Yet still a fool! [_Looks round the cottage._ It strikes me you are poor! _Albert._ What follows thence? _Osorio._ That you would fain be richer. Besides, you do not love the rack, perhaps, 230 Nor a black dungeon, nor a fire of faggots. The Inquisition--hey? You understand me, And you are poor. Now I have wealth and power, Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty. And for this service, all I ask you is 235 That you should serve me--once--for a few hours. _Albert (solemnly)._ Thou art the son of Velez! Would to Heaven That I could truly and for ever serve thee! _Osorio._ The canting scoundrel softens. [_Aside._ You are my friend! 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' 240 Nay, no defence to me. The holy brethren Believe these calumnies. I know thee better. [_Then with great bitterness._ Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee! _Albert._ Alas, this hollow mirth! Declare your business! _Osorio._ I love a lady, and she would love me 245 But for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants round the house? no listeners? [_OSORIO steps to the door._ _Albert._ What! faithless too? false to his angel wife? To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan, Ill-starr'd Maria! Wretch! my softer soul 250 Is pass'd away! and I will probe his conscience.