Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/62

Rh Faint hollow music ever breathing up In unsurpass'd soul-trancing symphony To utter consummation of all desire, That just as eager longing grows piercing pain, Dies off, until it rack your soul once more With the bitter joy of its hateful melody, And leave you again a soul gall-surfeited With sick dissatisfaction of unsinned sin!

Nay, there's no love in Hell but only Hate!!

But the night wears, and we shall meet anon, We must not linger, tho' our Prince and Lord For just one night unkennelling the damn'd, Hath loos'd live Devils forth to sup with you, Yet are we on parole, and must return!

(They laugh and disappear.)