Lyra monologue (Act 4) — Numantia

Brother dear, and art thou gone? Neither breath nor life hath he; Ill is good in some degree When it cometh all alone. Fortune, wherefore dost thou grieve me, With one loss and then another? Wherefore at one time together Orphan, widow, dost thou leave me? O thou cruel Roman host! How thy sword doth gird me round With two corpses on the ground, Spouse and brother, both are lost! Sweetest husband, tender brother, You I'll match in loving well, For in heaven or in hell Soon I'll see the one and other! In the manner of my death I to part from you am loath; For the sword and hunger both Have to take my latest breath. Rather will I give my breast Point of dagger, than this bread; For to one who lives in dread Death is gain and sweetest rest. Am I coward, can it be? Arm of mine, what dost thou fear? Sweetest husband, brother dear, I am coming, wait for me!