Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/66

Rh Like ill news read by light'ning, in a storm, And looking back clear shall the sense appear Of what seem'd hidden, hieroglyphick, script, Till penitent tears had wash'd your vision clear, Repent, Sylvester, call upon the sky, For you are old and have offended Heaven, Weep, pray, repent, lay by your stubborn pride, Call on the Infinite Mercy!

Nay, Lenore, If in the angry heats of burning Youth Heady and fierce as the Italian springs I sinn'd, as men count sinning, I my sin Regret not and repent not, what I might Have done and did not, solely I repent, And count for merit of my own deserts That wilful sadness, listless weariness, Or dull indifference I never knew. Extreme in pleasure, as in toil extreme,