Win back your fame, my brother!
Aym. Fame again!
Leave me the desert!—leave it me! I hate
Your false world’s glittering draperies, that press down
Th’ o’erlabour’d heart! They have crush’d mine. Your vain
And hollow-sounding words are wasted now:
You should adjure me by the name of him
That slew his son’s young bride!—our ancestor—
That were a spell! Fame! fame!—your hand hath rent
The veil from off your world! To speak of fame,