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This must not be. Enough of woe is laid E'en now, upon thy lord's heroic soul, For man to bear, unsinking. Press thou not Too heavily th' o'erburthen'd heart.—Away! Bow down the knee, and send thy prayers for strength Up to Heaven's gate.—Farewell! [Exit.

Are all men thus? —Why, wer't not better they should fall e'en now Than live to shut their hearts, in haughty scorn, Against the sufferer's pleadings?—But no, no! Who can be like this man, that slew his son, Yet wears his life still proudly, and a soul Untamed upon his brow? There's one, whose arms Have borne my children in their infancy, And on whose knees they sported, and whose hand Hath led them oft—a vassal of their sire's; And I will seek him: he may lend me aid, When all beside pass on.