If he if all forsake thee what remains?
ROBESPIERRE.
Myself! the steel-strong rectitude of soul
And poverty sublime 'mid circling virtues!
The giant victories, my counsels form'd,
Shall stalk around me with sun-glittering plumes,
Bidding the darts of calumny fall pointless.
Exeunt
.
Manet
Couthon.
COUTHON.
So we deceive ourselves! What goodly virtues
Bloom on the poisonous branches of ambition!
Still, Robespierre! thou'l't guard thy country's freedom
To despotize in all the patriot's pomp.
While conscience, 'mid the mob's applauding clamours,
Sleeps in thine ear, nor whispers blood-stain'd tyrant!
Yet what is conscience? superstition's dream
Making such deep impression on our sleep
That long th' awaken'd breast retains its horrors!
But he returns and with him comes Barrere.
Exit