Eliz monologue (Act 3) — The Saint's Tragedy

Silence, girl! I'd plead my deeds, if mine own character, My strength of will had fathered them: but no-- They are His, who worked them in me, in despite Of mine own selfish and luxurious will-- Shall I bribe Him with His own? For pain, I tell thee I need more pain than mine own will inflicts, Pain which shall break that will.--Yet spare them, Lord! Go to--I am a fool to wish them life-- And greater fool to miscall life, this headache-- This nightmare of our gross and crude digestion-- This fog which steams up from our freezing clay-- While waking heaven's beyond. No! slay them, traitors! Cut through the channels of those innocent breaths Whose music charmed my lone nights, ere they learn To love the world, and hate the wretch who bore them!