Nay I am sick of blood! my aching heart
Reviews the long, long train of hideous horrors
That still have gloom'd the rise of the Republic.
I should have died before Toulon, when war
Became the patriot!
ROBESPIERRE.
Most unworthy wish!
He, whose heart sickens at the blood of traitors
Would be himself a traitor, were he not
A coward! 'Tis congenial souls alone
Shed tears of sorrow for each other's fate.
O, thou art brave, my brother! and thine eye
Full firmly shines amid the groaning battle
Yet in thine heart the woman-form of pity
Asserts too large a share, an ill-timed guest!
There is unsoundness in the state to-morrow
Shall see it cleansed by wholesome massacre!
ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.
Beware! already do the Sections murmur
"O the great glorious patriot, Robespierre
The tyrant guardian of the country's freedom!"
COUTHON.
'Twere folly sure to work great deeds by halves!
Much I suspect the darksome fickle heart
Of cold Barrere!
ROBESPIERRE.
I see the villain in him!
ROBESPIERRE JUNIOR.