The King: Farewell to you! Men, farewell!
Gestures, the sound of steps in withered leaves, stumbled phrases
Repeated with an idiot's stubborn fury, a confusion of faces and words. All this for a moment.
And yet with attentive ears they hearken to the rustle of laurel leaves or, with wide eyes regarding the holy redness,
Of the evening of the seasons, they wish to be content.
As for me I have made you rise from your idleness,
And I have summoned you out of the shade in which you sat,
And I brought you an order, and this is the order I gave you, I commanded you to go forth!
Neither the world nor the multitude of men has prevailed against us.
And I led you up to this empty space. For here is the place where it has been ordained that I should die.