From The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy by Friedrich Schiller

We pluck The arrow from the wound--but the torn heart Shall ne'er be healed. Let him who can, drag on A weary life of penance and of pain, To cleanse the spot of everlasting guilt;-- I would not live the victim of despair; No! I must meet with beaming eye the smile Of happy ones, and breathe erect the air Of liberty and joy. While yet alike We shared thy love, then o'er my days of youth Pale envy cast his withering shade; and now, Think'st thou my heart could brook the dearer ties That bind thee in thy sorrow to the dead? Death, in his undecaying palace throned, To the pure diamond of perfect virtue Sublimes the mortal, and with chastening fire Each gathered stain of frail humanity Purges and burns away: high as the stars Tower o'er this earthly sphere, he soars above me; And as by ancient hate dissevered long, Brethren and equal denizens we lived, So now my restless soul with envy pines, That he has won from me the glorious prize Of immortality, and like a god In memory marches on to times unborn!

Don Caesar Monologue from The Bride of Messina, and On the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy

Rehearse Don Caesar's monologue