Themistocles | ||
SCENE III.
Themistoclesalone.
Be my life's last hour
With splendor clos'd; and, like a dying torch,
Quench'd in a blaze.—Ho! guards, call hither to me
Neocles and Aspasia.—Let me think—
What is this death? Is it a good? We then
Should haste to welcome it.—Is it an evil?
We then should shorten our expectance of it:
The greater evil.—He deserves not life
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The privilege of every mortal born,
But fame th' exclusive privilege, the treasure
Of noble minds.—The vile may fear his death,
Who, lost to others, to himself unknown,
Died at his birth, and with him carries all
Unnotic'd to the tomb.—He dauntless yields
His latest breath, who can, without a blush,
View how he liv'd, and viewing, calmly die.
Themistocles | ||