Anicetus Monologue from Nero

From Nero by Stephen Phillips

male · dark · 57 sec

To Britain send her. There for Claudius I fought; a melancholy isle, alone, Sundered from all the world; and banned by God With separating, cold, religious wave, And haunted with the ghost of a dead sun Rising as from a grave, or all in blood Returning wounded heavily through mist. Her rotting peoples amid forests cower, Or mad for colour paint their bodies blue. There in eternal drippings of the leaf Or that dead summer of the living fly, And by the eternal sadness of the surf, Ambition cannot live, hope cannot breathe. Even the fieriest spirit there will rust Or gutter like a candle in the rain. To Britain send her.

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