His acts are just; his word we must believe,
And none shall spurn him, though his blood they spill
To pierce the heart whose pride they cannot kill.—
Death dies for him whose fame is his reprieve!
XVI.
REMORSE.
Go, get thee gone. I love thee not, I swear;
And if I lov'd thee well in days gone by,
And if I kiss'd, and trifled with thy hair,
And crown'd my love, to prove the same a lie,