Jane.Thanks, worthy Jerome.
O! who hath said, the wretched have no friends!
Freb. In every sensible and gen'rous breast
Affliction finds a friend; but unto thee,
Thou most exalted and most honourable,
The heart in warmest adoration bows,
And even a worship pays.
Jane. Nay, Freberg, Freberg! grieve me not, my friend.
He to whose ear my praise most welcome was,
Hears it no more; and, oh our piteous lot!
What tongue will talk of him? Alas, alas!
This more than all will bow me to the earth;
I feel my misery here.
The voice of praise was wont to name us both:
I had no greater pride.
(Covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. Here they all hang about her: Freberg supporting her tenderly; Manuel embracing her knees, and old Jerome catching hold of her robe affectionately. Bernard, Abbess, Monks, and Nuns, likewise, gather round her, with looks of sympathy.)
Enter Two Officers of law.
1st Off.Where is the prisoner?
Into our hands he straight must be consign'd.
Bern. He is not subject now to human laws;
The prison that awaits him is the grave.
1st Off. Ha! sayst thou so? there is foul play in this.
