“They have gone away and left you to us.”
“They have gone away and left me! Have left me to you! Oh, kill me and let me escape from suffering. Oh, stab me, you are still young, have pity, free me from the agony that rends me, stab me!” he said, and turned towards Stroici.
“I will not desecrate my noble dagger with the blood of such a worthless tyrant as you.”
The pains increased. The poisoned man writhed in convulsions.
“Oh,” he cried, “my very soul burns me! Oh, give me water—give me something to drink.”
“Look,” said Spancioc, taking the silver cup from the table, “the dregs of the poison are left. Drink and quench your thirst!”
“Nay, nay, I will not,” said the sick man, setting his teeth.
Then Stroici seized him and held him tight while Spancioc, drawing a knife from its sheath, unclenched his teeth with its point and poured down his throat the poison which had remained at the bottom of the cup.
Lapushneanu, roaring like a bull which sees the hand and axe which is about to strike him, tried to turn his face towards the wall.
“What, you do not want to see us?” said the boyars. “No, but it is meet that you should see in us your punishment; learn to die, you who have only known how to kill.” And seizing him both together, they held him inflexibly, staring at him with devilish delight and reviling him.