Is still not black enough for this my crime.
'Tis sweet in deepest Tartarus to hide;
Or, if there yet is deeper pit than this,145
There would I go. 'Tis well to do at last
The thing which long ago should have been done.
I cannot be prevented from my death.
Wilt take away my sword? Wilt bar all paths
That lead unto the fatal precipice?
Wilt keep my neck free from the choking noose?
Remove all poisonous herbs from me? Yet what,150