DEMON. Although the lunges
Of thy naked sword against me
Are well aimed, thou hast not struck me,
Fierce as were thy blows. And now,
Even in more despair to plunge thee,
I would have thee learn at least
That the Devil is thy instructor.
CYPRIAN. What do you say?
DEMON. That I am he.
CYPRIAN. Oh! to hear thee how I shudder!--
DEMON. Not alone a slave art thou,
But MY slave; be that thy comfort.
CYPRIAN. I the slave of the Devil! I
Own a master so unworthy?
DEMON. Yes; for since thy soul thou gav'st me,
Thenceforth it to me was subject.
CYPRIAN. Is there then no gleam of hope,
No appeal, no aid, no succour,
By which I so great a crime
Can blot out?
DEMON. No.
CYPRIAN. Why doubt further?
Let not this sharp sword rest idly
In my hand, but swiftly cutting
Through my breast, become the willing
Instrument of mine own murder.
But what say I? He who could
Snatch Justina from thy clutches,
Can He not, too, rescue me?
DEMON. No. By choice thou wert a culprit,
And He does not favour crimes,
Virtues only.
CYPRIAN. If the summit
Of all power He be, to pardon
Is as easy as to punish.
DEMON. He rewardeth by His power,
He chastiseth from His justice.
CYPRIAN. One who yields He'll not chastise.
I am one, since I am humbled.
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