o admit no other love. Dost thou see
how impious, how execrable----. Quit my sight!

FRANCIS. You know me not, Amelia; you do not know me in the least!

AMELIA. Oh, yes, I know you; from henceforth I know you; and you
pretend to be like him? You mean to say that he wept for me in your
presence? Yours? He would sooner have inscribed my name on the
pillory? Begone--this instant!

FRANCIS. You insult me.

AMELIA. Go--I say. You have robbed me of a precious hour; may it be
deducted from your life.

FRANCIS. You hate me then!

AMELIA. I despise you--away!

FRANCIS (stamping with fury). Only wait! you shall learn to tremble
before me!--To sacrifice me for a beggar!
[Exit in anger.]

AMELIA. Go, thou base villain! Now, Charles, am I again thine own.
Beggar, did he say! then is the world turned upside down, beggars are
kings, and kings are beggars! I would not change the rags he wears for
the imperial purple. The look with which he begs must, indeed, be a
noble, a royal look, a look that withers into naught the glory, the
pomp, the triumphs of the rich and great! Into the dust with thee,
glittering baubles! (She tears her pearls from her neck.) Let the rich
and the proud be condemned to bear the burden of gold, and silver, and
jewels! Be they condemned to carouse at the tables of the voluptuous!
To pamper their limbs on the downy couch of luxury! Charles! Charles!
Thus am I worthy of thee!
[Exit.]

ACT II.

SCENE I.--FRANCIS VON MOOR in his chamber--in meditation.

FRANCIS. It lasts too long-and the doctor even says is recovering--an
old man's life is a very eternity! The course would be free and plain
before me, but for this troublesome, tough lump of flesh, which, like
the infernal demon-hound in ghost stories, bars the way to my treasures.

Must, then, my projects bend to the iron yoke of a mechanical system?
Is my soaring spirit to be chained down to the snail's pace of matter?
To blow out a wick which is already flickering upon its last drop of
oil--'tis nothing more. And yet I would rather not do it myself, on
account of what the world would say. I should not wish him to be
killed, but merely disposed of. I should like to do what your clever
physician does, only the reverse way--not stop Nature's course by
running a bar across her path, but only help her to speed a little
faster. Are we not able to prolong the conditions of life? Why,