With that which comes between me and myself—
The self that as a christian and a man
I strongly strove to be
OTHUS.
Hinted in broken words: will not your highness
Unto a faithful friend
CONSTANTINE (turning away from him).
Sometimes I dream like a distracted man
And nurse dark fancies. Power and lawless will—
Defenceless beauty—Mahomet—Valeria—
Shape out of these wild words whatever thou wilt,
For I can say no more.
OTHUS.
CONSTANTINE.
A thought, perhaps, that in no other breast
Hath any shelter found.—It is my weakness:
I am ashamed of it.—I can look
On my short-fated span and its dark bound:
I can, God strength'ning me, my earthly task
Close as becomes a king; and, being clos'd,
To that which in this world's tumultuous stage
Shall happen after it, I am as nothing.
