To kneel for liberty!—And, oh! to whom!
E'en to the murd'rer of her lord and son!
O, perish first, Zaphira! Yes, I'll die!
For what is life to me? My dear, dear lord—
My hapless child—yes, I will follow you!
Oth. Wilt thou not see him, then?
Zap. I will not, Othman;
Or, if I do, with bitter imprecation
More keen than poison shot from serpents' tongues,
I'll pour my curses on him.