Has been for mighty things.
—If you love me, do not let me succumb to this horrible feebleness! Ah!
Ah! Things not attained!
Cut me to pieces! Wrench my limbs from their sockets!
Dismember me and fix my quarters above the gates of cities,
That cowards may be shamed and infants in the wombs of their mothers may be given ferocious souls!
(Clamor below.
The Centurion: O King, your army is there drawn up in the depths below,
And they call us, pressing against the base of the cliff, for they think that you are dead.
The King: Certainly I am dead.