]
I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting
At his own gate, and such was my contrivance _75
That I might rid me both of him and them.
I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting
At his own gate, and such was my contrivance _75
That I might rid me both of him and them.
Shelley
]
Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue _55
Disdains to brand thee with.
ORSINO:
Put up your weapon.
Is it the desperation of your fear
Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend,
Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger
Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed _60
Was but to try you. As for me, I think,
Thankless affection led me to this point,
From which, if my firm temper could repent,
I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak
The ministers of justice wait below: _65
They grant me these brief moments. Now if you
Have any word of melancholy comfort
To speak to your pale wife, 'twere best to pass
Out at the postern, and avoid them so.
NOTE:
_58 a friend edition 1821; your friend edition 1839.
GIACOMO:
O, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me? _70
Would that my life could purchase thine!
ORSINO:
That wish
Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well!
Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor?
[EXIT GIACOMO.
]
I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting
At his own gate, and such was my contrivance _75
That I might rid me both of him and them.
I thought to act a solemn comedy
Upon the painted scene of this new world,
And to attain my own peculiar ends
By some such plot of mingled good and ill _80
As others weave; but there arose a Power
Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device
And turned it to a net of ruin. . . Ha!
[A SHOUT IS HEARD. ]
Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad?
But I will pass, wrapped in a vile disguise; _85
Rags on my back, and a false innocence
Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd
Which judges by what seems. 'Tis easy then
For a new name and for a country new,
And a new life, fashioned on old desires, _90
To change the honours of abandoned Rome.
And these must be the masks of that within,
Which must remain unaltered. . . Oh, I fear
That what is past will never let me rest!
Why, when none else is conscious, but myself, _95
Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt
Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly
My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave
Of.
Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue _55
Disdains to brand thee with.
ORSINO:
Put up your weapon.
Is it the desperation of your fear
Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend,
Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger
Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed _60
Was but to try you. As for me, I think,
Thankless affection led me to this point,
From which, if my firm temper could repent,
I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak
The ministers of justice wait below: _65
They grant me these brief moments. Now if you
Have any word of melancholy comfort
To speak to your pale wife, 'twere best to pass
Out at the postern, and avoid them so.
NOTE:
_58 a friend edition 1821; your friend edition 1839.
GIACOMO:
O, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me? _70
Would that my life could purchase thine!
ORSINO:
That wish
Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well!
Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor?
[EXIT GIACOMO.
]
I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting
At his own gate, and such was my contrivance _75
That I might rid me both of him and them.
I thought to act a solemn comedy
Upon the painted scene of this new world,
And to attain my own peculiar ends
By some such plot of mingled good and ill _80
As others weave; but there arose a Power
Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device
And turned it to a net of ruin. . . Ha!
[A SHOUT IS HEARD. ]
Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad?
But I will pass, wrapped in a vile disguise; _85
Rags on my back, and a false innocence
Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd
Which judges by what seems. 'Tis easy then
For a new name and for a country new,
And a new life, fashioned on old desires, _90
To change the honours of abandoned Rome.
And these must be the masks of that within,
Which must remain unaltered. . . Oh, I fear
That what is past will never let me rest!
Why, when none else is conscious, but myself, _95
Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt
Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly
My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave
Of.
