Her.Fiend, away!
Comest thou to exult o'er vanquished conscience?
I am sufficient torment to myself
Without thy hellish aid; away! away!
2d Voice. Bid me not go away; I am a part
Of thy inseparable self—dark restlessness.
I too have haunted thee in midnight watches;
I too have peopled solitude with forms
Fearful and black as gloom; have worn out virtue
With my perpetual importunities.
Nay, Hermon, I am too much part of thee
To leave thee to still musings and reflection.
Her. Oh, thou tormenting spirit! let thy voice
Rest for one hour, that my vexed soul may find
Repose from thy incessant torturing.
Is't not enough that I am what I am,
Traitor to Heaven, and curst upon the earth,
Without the object for which all was lost,
But thou must scourge me thus?
2d Voice.The object—ay,
And when shall she reward thee? Answer me.
Her. Goad not my soul to madness with thy taunts,
If mad I am not now; it seems to me
That my brain is on fire, and my heart burns
With a devouring flame. O that Azlea
Could for one hour feel my tormenting pangs,
Then Hermon would be pitied.
2d Voice.She would not
Yield, as thou hast done; in her gentle soul
I might wear out the life, but virtue never.
Her. Again, again you taunt me. Fiend, away!
My brain is crazed with torment—I am mad
