Classic Poem

SCENE III.

Hyd. What 's death to that I feel within! 'Tis nothing.
Tortures but tear the flesh, and crush the bones,
But guilt and horror tear my restless soul,
And ev'ry thought 's an arrow in my heart.
Sophernes is condemn'd, and I accused him.
For what? — For means to satiate my revenge,
And that's sufficient. — O Revenge, support me!
What, am I grown a coward? Does repentance,
Does vile contrition sink my boasted courage?
Does resolution stagger! Hence, away,
I will not hear thee, dastard, medling conscience!
No. I'll go on, I feel my spirits rise:
My heart grows harder, and I scorn remorse,
That 's the poor whining refuge of a Coward.
My friends are now expiring. Hark, their groans
Start me from thought, and summon me to vengeance!
I come, my friends; in that great deed I'll fall.