Morandro monologue (Act 4) — Numantia

Com'st them not, Leoncio, say? Friend, what hath befallen thee? If thou comest not with me, How can I without thee stay? Friend, where art thou, tell me, where? Dying? dead? Alas! to grieve me, Never, never wouldst thou leave me, It was I who left thee there! Can it be that thou art lost, All thy flesh in pieces torn, Tokens of the price forlorn Which this bread of mine hath cost? Why did not that fatal blow, Which hath laid thee with the dead, Rather fall upon my head, Take my life, and end my woe? But the Fates, in cruel mood, Would not have me thus to die; Gave me greater misery, Gave to thee the higher good! Thou wilt bear the palm for ever, Of the lealest, truest friend; And to thee my soul I'll send, To excuse my rash endeavour; Quickly, for a craving dread Lures me on my death to meet At my dearest Lyra's feet, Giving her this bitter bread; Bread, which from the foe was taken,-- Taken? 'Tis more precious food, Purchased with the very blood Of two friends, by luck forsaken.