Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/196

174 And save my life and fame. But what detains him? Why hastes he not? Ægina, fly—

He's here. O prince, my soul is on the rack; I blush To see the man whom duty bids me shun, Which says I should forget and not betray thee. Doubtless thou knowest the dreadful fate that hangs O'er thy devoted head.

The clamorous people Demand my life; but they have suffered much, And therefore, though unjust, I pity them.

Yield not thyself a victim to their rage: Away, begone; as yet thou art thyself The master of thy fate; but this perhaps Is the last minute that can give me power To save thee: far, O fly far from Jocaste; And, in return for added life, I beg thee But to forget 'twas I who thus preserved it.

I could have wished, Jocaste, thou hadst shown More strength of mind, and less compassion for me; Preferred with me my honor to my life, And rather bade me die than meanly quit