ake thee Kislah Aga of my harem,
Chief eunuch and sole security--What!
Call me satyr when I urge in bounds
The boundless beauties of pure maidenhood,
And bid thee wed them! Thus best advices are
Construed amiss, and what we kindly mean
Turned into scorn and filthiness!

_Dimsdell._ Forgive me, Doctor; I'm ill at ease. This pain
Is like a stick thrust in a spring; it muddies
All my thoughts. Oh! Oh! [_Pressing his hands to his breast._

_Roger._ Come, Dimsdell, listen to a bit of reason.
Thy body is as sound as a red apple
In November. The pain's imaginary.
Marry, man, marry; thy wife will prove
A counter-irritant and drive the pain away.

_Dimsdell._ No more of that, I pray you.

_Roger._ Not enough of it, not enough of it!

_Dimsdell._ No more, no more! I must not marry.

_Roger._ Think once again, man; if that thy mind
Can pardon the suggestion--and, mark, I urge it
With all diffidence--there is a way,
Wherein the low opinion thou doth hold
Of thine own virtues--not held by any else--
May wed with beauty all unspeakable,
Raise up a noble lady, and show thy christian
Spirit to the world.

_Dimsdell._ And what is that?

_Roger._ Wed Hester Prynne.

_Dimsdell._ Wed Hester Prynne?

_Roger._ Aye! 'twas that I said.
She is a paragon--nay, beauty's self.
All other women are but kitchen-maids
Beside her loveliness.

_Dimsdell._ Wed Hester Prynne!

_Roger._ I hear her husband left her well to do;
And as for that small blot that sullies her
'Twill fade when covered by thy name.

_Dimsdell._ Hester Prynne!

_Roger._ What act more merciful, more christianlike?
Redeem the reputation of her child,
And to the jeers of fools stop up thine ears;
Enwrap thee in her gentle arms, lay down
Thine aching head upon her tender breast,
And dream thyself in paradise.

_Dimsdell._ Thou fiend of Hell! I know thee now; thou cam'st
But once in thine own form, and ever since
Hast been too near me in a worser one.
Back to the pit, I say! No more of tempting!

_Roger._ Art mad? I'm man as thou dost seem to be;
I'm not a fiend.

_Dimsdell._ What dost thou know? [_Shaking Roger by the shoulders._

_Roger._ Only this--thou art as cowardly
As thou art lecherous. What! betray
A woman! Desert her in her misery!
Refuse to marry her!
And all the while, cloaked in thy ministry,
Dispense the sacrame