Whose fiery breath fans every passion's flame,
Whose very spirit fosters violence.
Where lends the name of foe a welcome pretext
To every crime, to robbery and rape,
Where oft the reins of rigid discipline
Must purposely be slackened to incite
The animal propensities of man,—
A woman, void of every guardian's care,
A woman, known to be an enemy,
Inevitably must fall a luckless victim
To wicked lust—
Elsie.
[Falls on her knees, and imploringly holds up her hands.]
Oh, spare my womanhood!
Santa Anna.
[Continuing his speech.]
And be the abject property of all!
Elsie.
[Struggling on her knees.]
Knave! Fiend! now first thou stand'st revealed to me
In thy true light! Hast thou no fear of Heaven,
Of retribution in the Life hereafter?
Santa Anna.
[Sneeringly.]
That knave, that fiend rejoices in his power,
And mocks the scorn of idle impotence,