All that I do forgive. But answer, priest:
I, who wrought wisely through long weary years
To build a kingdom, where was turbulence,
And mould a civil state out of this strife,
Come at the last unto a shameful death;
While Fredegonde, who wrought for her own lust,
Died peacefully: has God been just to us?
Bow not thy head; bear with my bitterness:
Though God desert me in mine hour of need,
Yet shall I carry a firm heart to death;