430
THE MARTYR: A DRAMA.
Which has no words.—Friend, father, Portia's father!
The thought creates in me such sudden joy,
I am bewilder'd with it.
SULPICIUS.
Thou should'st in meeter form have known it sooner,
Had not the execution of those Christians—
(Pests of the earth, whom on one burning pile,
With all their kind, I would most gladly punish,)
Till now prevented me. Thy friend, Orceres—
Thou owest him thanks—pled for thee powerfully,
And had my leave. But dost thou listen to me?
Thy face wears many colours, and big drops
Burst from thy brow, whilst thy contracted lips
Quiver, like one in pain.
ORCERES.
CORDENIUS.
SULPICIUS (holding him).
To know whate'er concerns thee,— pain or pleasure.
