CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. REV. GEORGE CROLY. Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? "Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this? my head? chain! Smile on, my lords; Who'll prove it, at his peril on But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling "Traitor!" I go; but I return. This - trial! Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords! And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. I go; but when I come, 't will be the burst rolling back In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well! You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood Shall quench its flame! REMORSE. SHAKSPEARE. O, my offense is rank, it smells to Heaven; And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,— Or pardoned, being down? Then I'll look up; My crown, my own ambition, and my queen. All may be well! |