Ah where—to God?
Why would you come with me?
MARCOMIR.
You must not ask.
Some rival slain in haste—the ebbing back
Of hatred that has left the face exposed
Of a dead foe I spared not. I have struck
On something in my nature that is foul,
That goes on breeding in me, that will taint
My fellows: I must purify my heart
With lonely fasting and continual prayers.
My hope is all in Time: though Time defaces
So much of what is fair, it dims the spots:
I who am just a murderer to myself,
Who close my eyes upon a sleeping guilt
And waking, answer to the bloody name,
Have some faint courage that a transformation
Will come ...
CARLOMAN.
Oh, do not put your trust in Time;
Put on at once forever leap to God!
Have done with age and death and faltering friends,
Assailing circumstance, the change of front
That one is always meeting in oneself,
The plans, the vacillations—let them go!
And you will put on immortality
As simply as a vesture.
MARCOMIR.
And you think
Of starting—when?