Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/355

Rh What, but the sure hope of this fierce, glad hour, That I might track thee down to this might see Thy tortured body writhe beneath my feet, And blast thy stricken spirit with my curse?

Have mercy! mercy!

Yes, I will have mercy The mercy of the tiger or the wolf, Athirst for blood.

{{c|MARIA (terror-struck, rises upon her Icnees in an attitude of supplication. RIBERA averts his face}. }}

Oh, father, kill me not ! Turn not away I am not changed for thee ! In God s name, look at me thy child, thine own! Spare me, oh, spare me, till I win of Heaven Some sign of promise ! I am lost forever If I die now.

Nay, have no fear of me. I would not do thee that much grace to ease thee Of the gross burden of the flesh. Behold, Thou shalt be cursed with weary length of days; And when thou seek st to purge thy guilty heart,