Cæs.‍There is no cleaner now

In Rome.

Arn. How pale! how beautiful! how lifeless!

Alive or dead, thou Essence of all Beauty,

I love but thee!

Cæs.‍Even so Achilles loved

Penthesilea;[249] with his form it seems

You have his heart, and yet it was no soft one.

Arn. She breathes! But no, 'twas nothing, or the last

Faint flutter Life disputes with Death.