Ger. So thought my master-- For 'Thus,' quoth he, 'the primates of the Faith Have, in the bull which late was read to you, Most wisely ratified the will of God Revealed in her life's splendour; for the next count-- These miracles wherewith since death she shines-- Since ye must have your signs, ere ye believe, And since without such tests the Roman Father Allows no saints to take their seats in heaven, Why, there ye have them; not a friar, I find, Or old wife in the streets, but counts some dozens Of blind, deaf, halt, dumb, palsied, and hysterical, Made whole at this her tomb. A corpse or two Was raised, they say, last week: Will that content you? Will that content her? Earthworms! Would ye please the dead, Bring sinful souls, not limping carcases To test her power on; which of you hath done that? Has any glutton learnt from her to fast? Or oily burgher dealt away his pelf? Has any painted Jezebel in sackcloth Repented of her vanities? Your patron? Think ye, that spell and flame of intercession, Melting God's iron will, which for your sakes She purchased by long agonies, was but meant To save your doctors' bills? If any soul Hath been by her made holier, let it speak!' 2d Monk. Well spoken, Legate! Easier asked than answered. Ger. Not so, for on the moment, from the crowd Sprang out a gay and gallant gentleman Well known in fight and tourney, and aloud With sobs and blushes told, how he long time Had wallowed deep in mire of fleshly sin, And loathed, and fell again, and loathed in vain; Until the story of her saintly grace Drew him unto her tomb; there long prostrate With bitter cries he sought her, till at length The image of her perfect loveliness Transfigured all his soul, and from his knees He rose new-born, and, since that blessed day, In chastest chivalry, a spotless knight, Maintains the widow's and the orphan's cause. 1st Monk. Well done! and what said Conrad?