Lean offal-sniffer! Kindle every lamp!
(Soldier tremblingly takes a lamp and lights a number of others with its flame. Stage is flooded with light.)
By the bronze beard I swear there shall be lights
Enough hereafter, though I purge the nights
With conflagrating cities, till the crash
Of Rome’s last tower beat up the smouldering ash
Of Rome’s last city!
So—I breathe again!
Some cunning, faceless god who hated men
Devised this curse of darkness! What’s the hour?