Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/216

194 Alas!

Take, take this sword, The instrument of my unhappy rage; Receive, and use it for a noble purpose, And plunge it in my breast.

What wouldst thou do! O stop thy furious grief, be calm, and live.

Canst thou have pity on a wretch like me? No, I must die.

Thou must not: hear Jocaste, O hear her prayers!

I will not, must not hear thee. I slew thy husband.

And thou gavest me one.

I did, but 'twas by guilt.

Involuntary.

No matter, still 'twas guilt.

O height of woe!