My desolate course alone!—Why, be it thus!
He that doth guide a nation's star, should dwell
High o'er the clouds in regal solitude,
Sufficient to himself.
Rai. Yet, on that summit,
When with her bright wings glory shadows thee,
Forget not him who coldly sleeps beneath,
Yet might have soar'd as high!
Pro. No, fear thou not!
Thou'lt be remember'd long. The canker-worm
O'th' heart is ne'er forgotten.
Rai. "Oh! not thus—
I would not thus be thought of."
Pro. Let me deem
Again that thou art base!—for thy bright looks,
Thy glorious mien of fearlessness and truth,
Then would not haunt me as th' avenging powers
Follow'd the parricide.—Farewell, farewell!
I have no tears.—Oh! thus thy mother look'd,
When, with a sad, yet half-triumphant smile,
All radiant with deep meaning, from her death-bed
She gave thee to my arms.
Rai. Now death has lost
His sting, since thou believ'st me innocent.
Pro. (wildly,) Thou innocent!—Am I thy murderer then?
Away! I tell thee thou hast made my name
A scorn to men!—No! I will not forgive thee;
A traitor!—What! the blood of Procida
Filling a traitor's veins!—Let the earth drink it;
