"George Gordon, Lord Byron. The deformed transformed " - читать интересную книгу автора

Arn.
If his form could bring me
That which redeemed it-no.

Stran.
I have no power
To promise that; but you may try, and find it
Easier in such a form-or in your own.

Arn.
No. I was not born for philosophy,
Though I have that about me which has need on't.
Let him fleet on.

Stran.
Be air, thou Hemlock-drinker!
[The shadow of Socrates disappears: another rises.

Arn.
What's here? whose broad brow and whose curly beard
And manly aspect look like Hercules,
Save that his jocund eye hath more of Bacchus
Than the sad purger of the infernal world,
Leaning dejected on his club of conquest,
As if he knew the worthlessness of those
For whom he had fought.

Stran.
It was the man who lost
The ancient world for love.

Arn.
I cannot blame him,
Since I have risked my soul because I find not
That which he exchanged the earth for.

Stran.
Since so far
You seem congenial, will you wear his features?

Arn.
No. As you leave me choice, I am difficult.
If but to see the heroes I should ne'er
Have seen else, on this side of the dim shore,
Whence they float back before us.

Stran.
Hence, Triumvir,
Thy Cleopatra 's waiting.