Page:The robbers - a tragedy (IA robberstragedy00schiiala).pdf/99
Francis.
(With malignant irony.) He's dead—what signifies this idle lamentation.—'Tis easier to murder a man than to bring him alive!
O. Moor.
Wretch! it was you who made me throw him off,—who forced that malediction from my heart!—'Twas you!—you!—O give me back my son!
Francis.
Rouse not my fury.—I abandon you in death!
O. Moor.
Monster! inhuman monster! give me back my son! (He rises furiously, and endeavours to seize Francis by the throat, who runs out.) Ten thousand curses on thy head! lightning of heaven consume thee!—Thou hast robb'd me of my only son! (He sinks down.) Oh! oh!—to be in despair—and not to die!—They abandon me in death.—Is my good angel fled?—Yes! every angel must desert the murderer—the hoary murderer!—Oh! oh! will none for pity hold this head—will none release this spirit—no son! no daughter! no friend!—Is there to be found not one kind—Oh! despair—and not to die! (He faints.)