The Suburbs. POLITIAN alone

POLITIAN. This weakness grows upon me. I am faint, And much I fear me ill—it will not do To die ere I have lived!—Stay—stay thy hand, O Azrael, yet awhile!—Prince of the Powers Of Darkness and the Tomb, O pity me! O pity me! let me not perish now, In the budding of my Paradisal Hope! Give me to live yet—yet a little while: ’Tis I who pray for life—I who so late Demanded but to die!—what sayeth the Count?