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Go, seek Cassandra, men! Make your best speed,

That I may leave her with the King, and lead

These others to their divers lords Ha, there!

What means that sudden light? Is it the flare

Of torches?

Would they fire their prison rooms,

Or how, these dames of Troy?—'Fore God, the dooms

Are known, and now they burn themselves and die

Rather than sail with us! How savagely

In days like these a free neck chafes beneath

Its burden! Open! Open quick! Such death

Were bliss to them, it may be: but 'twill bring

Much wrath, and leave me shamed before the King!

There is no fire, no peril: 'tis my child,

Cassandra, by the breath of God made wild.

Lift, lift it high:

Give it to mine hand!

Lo, I bear a flame

Unto God! I praise his name.

I light with a burning brand

This sanctuary.