I leave you to your counsels. He that still
Would hold his lofty nature undebased,
And his name pure, were but a loiterer here.
Pro. And is it thus indeed?—dost thou forsake
Our cause, my son!
Raim. O father! what proud hopes
This hour hath blighted! Yet, whate’er betide,
It is a noble privilege to look up
Fearless in heaven’s bright face—and this is mine,
And shall be still.