Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/78

60 And seek the world of shades; for blackest night Is still not black enough for this my crime. 'Tis sweet in deepest Tartarus to hide; Or, if there yet is deeper pit than this, There would I go. 'Tis well to do at last The thing which long ago should have been done. I cannot be prevented from my death. Wilt take away my sword? Wilt bar all paths That lead unto the fatal precipice? Wilt keep my neck free from the choking noose? Remove all poisonous herbs from me? Yet what, Think'st thou, will all that care of thine avail? For death is everywhere. A kindly God Hath this great law with wisest care ordained: That anyone can take man's life away, But none can stay his death; for countless ways Are open unto him who seeks to die. I ask no aid of thine. Well am I used To employ this naked hand. Then come, my hand, With all thy force, with all thy passion, come. And not one wound alone would I endure, For I have sinned in every part of me. Come, strike the mortal blow where'er thou will: Break through my breast and tear my heart away, So full of sin; lay bear my vitals all; Rain blows upon my neck until it break, Or let thy gouging fingers tear my veins Until they flow with blood. Or, if thou wilt, Direct thine anger whither thou art wont: These healing wounds reopen; let them flow With streams of blood and loathsome gore again; And through this passage drag my life away, So stubborn in defeat, so hard to storm. And thou, O father, wheresoe'er thou art, Who stand'st as judge upon my just deserts, I ne'er have thought that such a crime as mine Could ever be sufficiently atoned, Nor has this living death contented me; I have not bought my pardon with my eyes,