You're getting death; don't be an egotist.
SAVERNY.
You can be satisfied; but I am not.
I'm not afraid of death—that is no boast—
When death is death, but on the gallows!
DIDIER.
Well,
Death has a thousand forms—gallows are one.
That moment is not pleasant when the rope
Puts out your life as one puts out a flame,
Choking your throat to let your soul fly up;
But, after all, what matter? If all's dark,
If only all this earth is hidden well,
What matter if a tomb lies on one's breast?
What matter if the night-winds howl and blow
About the strings of flesh crows tore from you
When you were on the gibbet? What care you?
SAVERNY.
You're a philosopher.
DIDIER.
Yes, let them rave.
Let vultures tear my flesh, let worms consume,
As they consume all, even kings; my body
Is what's concerned, not I. What do I care?
When sepulchers shut down our mortal eye,
The soul lifts up the mighty mass of stone
And flies away—
[A Councilor enters, preceded and followed by Halberdiers in black.