Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/137

Rh

But honour, god-like honour, fires my soul, And will not be restrain'd. Read, read Geraldi; I spoke not without proof. It is the hand, The seal of Veronica. (Reads the letter.) Ha! it works: The subtle poison steals through all his veins, And with his life-blood mingles. How his eyes Drink up the fatal scroll. Paralyzed And mute he stands. Where is the hero now, Who boldly fronted groves of hostile spears? Stabbed to the heart by a few foolish words. Why this is luxury my panting soul Never imagin'd: let me veil my joy; If I betray my triumph, I shall mar My well-constructed plot.