Racine: Phaedra

LIFE A DREAM 26$
I could but pause and gaze on him, and pray
Poland had such a warrior for her king.
AsTOLFO.—The cry of triumph on the other side
Gains ground upon us here—there's but a moment
For you, my liege, to do, for me to speak,
Who back must to the field, and what man may,
Do, to retrieve the fortune of the day. [Firing.
Fife [falling forward, shot].—Oh, Lord, have mercy on me.
King.— What a shriek
Oh, some poor creature wounded in a cause
Perhaps not worth the loss of one poor life !
So young too—and no soldier
Fife.— A poor lad,
Who choosing play at hide and seek with death,
Just hid where death just came to look for him;
For there's no place, I think, can keep him out.
Once he's his eye upon you. All grows dark
You glitter finely too—Well—we are dreaming
But when the bullet's off—Heav'n save the mark I
So tell my mister— mistress [Dies.
How this poor creature's ignorance
King.—Oh God !
Confounds our so-call'd wisdom !
Even
now
When death has stopt his lips, the wound through which
His soul went out, still with its bloody tongue
Preaching how vain our struggle against fate
[Voices ivithin].—After them! After them! This
way ! This way
The day is ours—Down with Basilio.
AsTOLFO.—Fly, sir
King.— And slave-like flying not out-ride
The fate which better like a King abide I
Enter Segismund, Rosaura, Soldiers.
Segismund.—Where is the King?
King [prostrating himself].— Behold him—by this late
Anticipation of resistless fate.
Thus underneath your feet his golden crown,
And the white head that wears it, laying down.
His fond resistance hopes to expiate.