Marina monologue (Act 1) — Demetrius: A Play

What happiness is that to leave the home Of the Waywode, my father, for the house Of some count palatine, a grateful bride? What do I gain of new from such a change? And can I joy in looking to the morrow When it brings naught but what was stale to-day? Oh, tasteless round of petty, worn pursuits! Oh, wearisome monotony of life! Are they a guerdon for high hopes, high aims? Or love or greatness I must have: all else Are unto me alike indifferent. Smooth off the trouble from thy brow, dear father! Let's trust the stream that bears us on its breast, Think not upon the sacrifice thou makest, Think on the prize, the goal that's to be won-- When thou shalt see thy daughter robed in state, In regal state, aloft on Moscow's throne, And thy son's sons the rulers of the world!