Page:The robbers - a tragedy (IA robberstragedy00schiiala).pdf/135

This page has been validated.
THE ROBBERS.
111

derers—of viperous fiends—bound down, enchained to guilt and horror!

Razman.

'Tis inconceivable! I never saw him thus mov'd before.

Moor.

(With great emotion.) Oh! that I could return once more into the womb that bare me! that I hung an infant on the breast! that I were born a beggar—the meanest hind—a peasant of the field! I would toil till the sweat of blood dropt from my brow, to purchase the luxury of one sound sleep, the rapture of a single tear!

Grimm.

(To the rest.) Peace, O peace!—the paroxism will soon be over.

Moor.

There was a time when I could weep with ease.—O days of bliss!—Mansion of my fathers! O vales so green, so beautiful! scenes of my infant years, enjoy'd by fond enthusiasm! will you no more return? no more exhale your sweets to cool this burning bosom!—Oh never, never shall they

return

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.