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

You nursed me-do not kill me!

Bert.
Yes-I nursed thee,
Because thou wert my first-born, and I knew not
If there would be another unlike thee,
That monstrous sport of Nature. But get hence,
And gather wood!

Arn.
I will: but when I bring it,
Speak to me kindly. Though my brothers are
So beautiful and lusty, and as free
As the free chase they follow, do not spurn me:
Our milk has been the same.

Bert.
As is the hedgehog's,
Which sucks at midnight from the wholesome dam
Of the young bull, until the milkmaid finds
The nipple, next day, sore, and udder dry.
Call not thy brothers brethren! Call me not
Mother; for if I brought thee forth, it was
As foolish hens at times hatch vipers, by
Sitting upon strange eggs. Out, urchin, out!
[Exit Bertha.

Arn. (solus).
Oh, mother!-She is gone, and I must do
Her bidding;-wearily but willingly
I would fulfil it, could I only hope
A kind word in return. What shall I do?
[Arnold begins to cut wood: in doing this he wounds one of
his hands.

My labour for the day is over now.
Accursed be this blood that flows so fast;

For double curses will be my meed now
At home-What home? I have no home, no kin,
No kind-not made like other creatures, or
To share their sports or pleasures. Must I bleed, too,
Like them? Oh, that each drop which falls to earth
Would rise a snake to sting them, as they have stung me!
Or that the Devil, to whom they liken me,
Would aid his likeness! If I must partake
His form, why not his power? Is it because
I have not his will too? For one kind word
From her who bore me would still reconcile me
Even to this hateful aspect. Let me wash