And well and nobly hast thou borne thyself
Through its long battle-toils, though many swords
Have enter’d thine own soul! But on my head
Recoil the fierce invokings of despair,
And I am left far distanced in the race,
The lonely one of earth! Ay, this is just.
I am not worthy that upon my breast
In this, thine hour of victory, thou shouldst yield
Thy spirit unto God!
Gon. Thou art! thou art!