Man. Thou false fiend, thou liest ! My life is in its last hour,—that I know, Spirit. Have made thee Man. But thy many crimes What are they to such as thee? Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, And its own place and time-its innate sense, Born from the knowledge of its own desert. Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt me; [The Demons disappear. Abbot. Alas! how pale thou art-thy lips are white— And thy breast heaves—and in thy gasping throat The accents rattle.-Give thy prayers to HeavenPray-albeit but in thought,-but die not thus. Man. 'Tis over-my dull eyes can fix thee not; But all things swim around me, and the earth Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare thee wellGive me thy hand. Abbot. Cold-cold-even to the heartBut yet one prayer-Alas! how fares it with thee? Man. Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die. [MANFRED expires. DYING SPEECH OF THE DOGE OF (MARINO FALIERO, Act v. Scene 3.) I SPEAK to Time and to Eternity, Of which I grow a portion, not to man. I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner, Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies, which will receive it! Thou sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou ! Who kindlest and who quenchest suns !-Attest ! I am not innocent-but are these guiltless? Float up from the abyss of time to be, And show these eyes, before they close, the doom When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, Shedding so much blood in her last defence And sold, and be an appanage to those In lieu of capital, with slaves for senates, With some large gondolier or foreign soldier, Slaves turn'd o'er to the vanquish'd by the victors, When these and more are heavy on thee, when Meanness and weakness, and a sense of woe 'Gainst which thou wilt not strive, and dar'st not murmur, Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts— Then, in the last gasp of thine agony, Amidst thy many murders, think of mine! Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes! DEATH OF SALEMENES. (SARDANAPALUS, Act v. Scene 1.) To MYRRHA and BALEA, enter Soldiers, bearing in SALEMENES wounded, with a broken Javelin in his Side: they seat him upon one of the Couches which furnish the Apartment. Myr. Oh, Jove ! Bal. Then all is over. Sal. That is false. Hew down the slave who says so, if a soldier. Myr. Spare him-he's none: a mere court butterfly, That flutters in the pageant of a monarch. Sal. Let him live on, then. Myr. So wilt thou, I trust. Sal. I fain would live this hour out, and the event, But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here? Sol. By the king's order. When the javelin struck you, You fell and fainted: 'twas his strict command To bear you to this hall. Sal. 'Twas not ill done: For seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance, The sight might shake our soldiers-but-'tis vain, Myr. Let me see the wound; I am not quite skilless in my native land 'Tis part of our instruction. War being constant, We are nerved to look on such things. Sol. The javelin. Best extract |