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74

Would we had never ta'en that cruel oath! (Exeunt Vassals.)

It is the sound; the heaving hollow swell That notes the turning tide.—Tremendous agent! Mine executioner, that, step by step, Advances to the awful work of death.— Onward it wears: a little space remov'd The dreadful conflict is. Thou art i' the blue coped sky—th' expanse immeasurable; I' the dark roll'd clouds, the thunder's awful home: Thou art i' the wide-shored earth,—the pathless desert; And in the dread immensity of waters,— I' the fathomless deep thou art. Awful but excellent! beneath thy hand. With trembling confidence, I bow me low, And wait thy will in peace.