The Lord God monologue — Satan Absolved: A Victorian Mystery

"All's well"! The fair phrase wearieth. It hath a new false ring. Truce, Gabriel, to thy word fence. Mark my questioning. Or rather no--not thou, blest Angel of all good, Herald of God's glad tidings to a world subdued, Thou lover tried of Man. I will not question thee, Lest I should tempt too sore and thou lie cravenly. Is there no other here, no drudge, to do that task And lay the secret bare, the face behind the mask? One with a soul less white, who loveth less, nay hates; One fit for a sad part, the Devil's advocate's; One who some wrong hath done, or hath been o'erborne of ill, And so hath his tongue loosed? O for Soul with will! O for one hour of Satan!