Act the Second: Scene VI

LUIS. If for this I die, to meThou the happiest death allottest,Since he for his God will die,He who dies to do Him honour.And a man whose life is hereBut a round of cares and crosses,Should be grateful unto deathAs the end of all his sorrows;Since it comes the tangled threadOf a wretched life to shorten,Which to-day the evil PhoenixOf its works that now prove mortalWould revive amid the ashesOf my wrong and my dishonour.Then my life, my breath were poison,Venom would my breast but foster,Until I had shed in IrelandBlood in such a copious torrent,That though base it might wash outThe remembrance of my wronger.Ah, my honour, low thou liest,By a ruthless foot down trodden!--I will die with thee, unitedWe two will together conquerThese barbarians. Then since little,But a span at best, belongethTo my life, a noble vengeanceLet this dagger take upon me!--But, good God! what evil impulseWith demoniac instinct promptethThus my hand? I am a Christian,I've a soul, and share the godlyLight of faith: then were it right,'Mid a crowd of Gentile mockers,Thus the Christian faith to tarnishBy an action so improper?What example would I give themBy a death so sad and shocking,Save that I thus gave the lieTo the works that Patrick worketh.Since they'd say, who worship onlyTheir own vices most immodest,Who deny unto the soulIts eternal joy or torment,"Of what use is Patrick's preachingThat man's soul must be immortal,If the Christian, Luis Enius,Kills himself? He can't acknowledgeIts eternal life who'd lose it."--Thus with actions so discordant,He the light and I the shadow,We would neutralize each other.'Tis enough to be so wickedAs even now to feel no sorrow,No repentance for past sins,Rather a desire for others.Yes, by God! for if escapeFortune now my life would offer,Europe, Africa, and AsiaI would fill with fear and horror;First exacting here the debtOf a vengeance so enormous,That these islands of EgeriusWould not hold a single mortalWho should not appease the thirst,The insatiable longingThat I have for blood. The lightning,When it bursts its prison portals,Warns us in a voice of thunder,And then 'twixt dark smoke and forkedFires that take the shape of serpents,Fills the trembling air with horror.I, too, gave that thunder voice,So that all men heard the promise,But the lightning bolt was wanting.Yes, ah me! it proved abortive,And before it touched the earthWas by dallying winds made sport of.No, it is not death that grieves me,Even a death of such dishonour,'Tis because at last are ended,In my youth's fresh opening blossom,My offences. Life I wish forTo begin from this day forwardGreater and more dread excesses.Heavens! 'tis for no other object.