By smiting him that was thy dearest friend.
And think not that he dies a vulgar death—
’Tis poetry demands the sacrifice!
Yet not to him be that revealment made.
He must not know with what a loving hand—
With what fraternal charity of heart
I do devote him to the infernal gods!
I dare not spare him one particular pang,
Nor make the struggle briefer! Hush—he comes.
Haverillo, emerging from the staircase.