Lyra monologue (Act 4) — Numantia

O Morandro, sweetest one, How art thou, what dost thou feel? How hath all thy strength of steel Passed away, and been undone? Woe is me, and is it true That my spouse is lying dead? O event of direst dread, That misfortune ever knew! Who hath made thee, sweetest friend, Having excellence supreme, Valiant lover to extreme, Luckless soldier at the end? Thou didst sally to the strife, Husband mine, in such a way, That to give my death delay Thou hast robbed me of my life! O thou bread, with blood bestained, Which for me was freely shed, I do not esteem thee bread, It is poison I have gained! To my mouth I'll carry thee, Not to give me nourishment, But to kiss, to my content, That dear blood which flowed for me!