Hud. Not I, my friend.
Cor. Your tool then. One of all
Your million hookèd hands fast in the heart
Of my poor country, shut your doors, thereby
To starve the wretches till they crawled to you
And begged their chains again. But they—their veins
Were not all tapped—they'd blood left, and arose
From their dumb prayers to fight for life—and then....
Hud. You sent the troops.
Cor. Because Rubirez lied!
Hud. Because you knew there'd be no after-sale
For your high favors, once let titles drift
Unguaranteed. And when your work was done—
Your work, my tear-washed saint, why weary patience
Could not take further time to count the dead,
Or dig so many graves. They were piled up
And carted to the sea——
Cor. Oh, every tide
Brings back their faces—staring, staring up!
Will God not answer them? I dare not shut
My eyes....
Hud. And this is why you weep so late?
Come, Cordiaz, you're broken. Leave a throne
Your own fears shake. You know that I must win.
Own you are mastered——
Cor. Mastered! While I've breath
I am a king. If I win peace of God,
And his white angel let my dark soul out,
'Twill be for this—the last throe of my strength
Was spent against you!
Hud. Madly you've uncased
Your madness, and I know my weapons.
Cor. So!
I too, my lord, know how to sleep and wake
With hand on steel.