if I don't
support nobility--I'll give such splendid entertainments----

_Count._ What, and like town-bred, ostentatious nobles; only to splendid
company?

_Chris._ Certainly not, my lord; for your splendid company seldom invite
again; and therefore I'll stick more to the trading line, where 'tis not
giving dinners, but _lending_ them, to be repaid at high bill of fare
interest; and so, till we meet at Corbey, adieu, most noble cousin!
[_Exit._

_Count._ Now for our sport, which ends not in the field.

GLEE.

I.

When Phoebus' rays no more appear,
And falc'ners further sport decline;
When ploughmen from their fields repair,
And mournful night-birds rend the air,
Then give me wine:
And at home the chase shall reign,
For in wine it lives again.

II.

When loud the chilling tempest blows,
And winter makes all Nature pine;
When lowing herds, and rooks, and crows
Do droop and moan at frost and snows,
Then give me wine, &c.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_The garden of Corbey abbey, with practicable gates, over
which is a projecting tablet, with an inscription nearly effaced. In the
back, an ascending avenue through pine trees: in the centre a statue of
Charlemagne; on the base of which is written, "Charlemagne grants the
power of sanctuary and of pardon to the abbots of Corbey forever."_

_Enter_ Bernardo _and_ St. Clair _from the abbey._

_St. Clair._ Nay, brother, you're to blame. The church, the court, all
Germany, applaud the proud election of the monk Bellarmin; for Corbey
abbey was too long disgraced by our late worldly abbot's vices.

_Bern._ And our new abbot will retrieve its fame. The monk Bellarmin has
no worldly vice. Speak, for I know him not.

_St. Clair._ Not know Bellarmin!

_Bern._ I know some fourteen years are past, since, in the dead of
night, a stranger, faint with terror and distress, implor'd assistance
at our abbey-gate, and, in return for our protecting care, since join'd
our order. I know, beside, that stranger is Bellarmin. But for the rest,
what means that pallid cheek, the hollow eye, and those stern gloomy
looks, repelling sympathy, creating strong disgust.

_St. Clair._ Peace, peace, Bernardo!--he may have suffered wrongs, but
never has committed them; and firm in conscious dignity and honour,
Bellarmin may have spirit to revive what former abbots, truckling to
authori