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I am a lofty tree of growth too great For its thin soil, from whose wide rooted fangs The very rocks and earth that foster'd it Do rend and fall away.—I stand alone! I stand alone! I thought, alas! to spread My wide protecting boughs o'er my youth's friends; But they, like pois'nous brushwood at my root, Have chok'd my stately growth e'en more than all. (musing for some time gloomily.) How marr'd and stinted hath my greatness been! What am I now of that which long ere now I hop'd to be? O! it doth make me mad To think of this! By hell it shall not be! I would cut off this arm and cast it from me For vultures meat, if it did let or hinder Its nobler fellow. Yes, they shall die! I to my fortunes height Will rear my lofty head, and stand alone, Fearless of storm or tempest. What form is that? What art thou? Speak! speak quickly! If thou indeed art aught of living kind.

Elb. Why didst thou start? Dost thou not know me?