To perish thus at last? Ay, by these pangs,
And this strange chill, that heavily doth creep,
Like a slow poison, through my curdling veins,
This should be—death! In sooth, a dull exchange
For the gay bridal feast!
Voices (without.) Remember Conradin!—spare none!—spare none!
Vit. (throwing off her bridal wreath and ornaments.)
This is proud freedom! Now my soul may cast,
In generous scorn, her mantle of dissembling
To earth for ever! And it is such joy,