Priest. Cling not around me, girl, touch, touch me not;
The power to pardon lieth not in man.
Thy hour hath come.
Vestal, (clasping him). I will not quit thee;
Thou art a man with human sympathies;
Madness will touch my brain; I cannot, will not yield.
Grant me some other death: poison or steel,
Or aught that sends me suddenly from earth;
But to be wrapt in clay, and yet not of it,
To feel the earth crumbling around my brow,