Con monologue (Act 2) — The Saint's Tragedy

Madam, but yesterday, I bade your presence, To hear the preached word of God; I preached-- And yet you came not.--Where is now your oath? Where is the right to bid, you gave to me? Am I your ghostly guide? I asked it not. Of your own will you tendered that, which, given, Became not choice, but duty.--What is here? Think not that alms, or lowly-seeming garments, Self-willed humilities, pride's decent mummers, Can raise above obedience; she from God Her sanction draws, while these we forge ourselves, Mere tools to clear her necessary path. Go free--thou art no slave: God doth not own Unwilling service, and His ministers Must lure, not drag in leash; henceforth I leave thee: Riot in thy self-willed fancies; pick thy steps By thine own will-o'-the-wisp toward the pit; Farewell, proud girl. [Exit Conrad.]