Captives, The. A Tragedy - Act 3, Scene 4

Ungrateful Prince!
Soph. Since 'tis the will of Heaven
To load me with calamities and shame,
Since the most searching eye cannot discern
The heart of man; O where shall I find justice!
I am a stranger, in adversity,
Bereft of wealth and power, without a friend.
Phra. Hence, base dissembler. Take him from my presence
When hypocrites are stript of Virtue's plumes,
Vice then appears most hideous and deform'd.
Back to thy dungeon, to remorse and death.
Soph. Vain are excuse and solemn protestation;
How shall my words prevail, and truth appear,
When there 's a crowd of witnesses against me!
The Guilty perish with remorse and horror,
But innocence ne'er feels the sting of death.
Death is a blessing to adversity;
Anxiety, calamity and sorrow,
And all the daily fretting cares of life
Are shook from off our shoulders; and we rest.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.