Ant. Ay, so you must, before we touch the shore
Of wish’d revenge. O, you departed souls,
That lodge in coffin’d trunks, which my feet press,
(If Pythagorean Axioms be true,
Of spirits’ transmigration) fleet no more 110
To human bodies, rather live in swine,
Inhabit wolves’ flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,
Rather than man. The curse of Heaven rains
In plagues unlimited through all his days:
His mature age grows only mature vice,
And ripens only to corrupt and rot
The budding hopes of infant modesty.
Still striving to be more than man, he proves
More than a devil. Devilish suspect,
Devilish cruelty, 120
All hell-strai[n’]d juice is pourèd to his veins,
Making him drunk with fuming surquedries;[273]
Contempt of Heaven, untam’d arrogance,
Lust, state, pride, murder.
Ghost of And. Murder!
}
}
Ghost of Feli. Murder!
} From above and beneath.
}
Pan.[274] Murder!
}