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Away, away! with all those lofty words! They but bewilder thee.

Yet hear them, Nero! O resist them not! Perhaps they are appointed for thy good, And for the good of thousands. When these hands Which have so oft done Rome a soldier's service, This tongue which speaks to thee, are turn'd to ashes, What now appears so wild and fanciful, May be remember'd with far other feelings. It is not life that I request of Nero, Altho' I said these hands have fought for Rome. No; in the presence of these senators, First bind thyself by every sacred oath To give this body to the flames, then hear me; O could I speak what might convince Rome's chief, Her senators, her tribes, her meanest slaves, Of Christ's most blessed truth, the fatal pile Would be to me a car of joyful triumph, Mounted more gladly than the laurell'd hero Vaults to his envied seat, while Rome's thronged streets Resound his shouted name. Within me stirs The spirit of truth and power which spoke to me, And will upon thy mind