My purpose fix'd. It would be bitter to thee,
To see me die in anger with thee: therefore,
Do thou my bidding; close thy service up,
In duty to my will. Go, find thy father;
I will prepare within the while.—Obey me,—
Or the last look from thy expiring master,
Darting reproach, shall burst thy heart in twain.
Mark, and be punctual!
[Exit.
La Gloire. O, the Virgin! Why was I ever attached to man, woman, or child?