2nd Off. All, all is lost; the post is ta’en by storm:
The breach is made; they pour in fast upon us.
Vor. If it be so, then will I out and die:
Now aid, ye gods! but if ye will not hear,
E’en, then, on hell I call again for succour!
My friends have boldly stemm’d this tide of war;
And shall I flinch at last, and play the woman?
Let any but Aurelius meet my arm,
And this my sword shall ope a gate so wide,
That the imprison’d soul shall take its flight,