thou hast betrayed is its own avenger. Though thou hast deserted it, liberty, sweet liberty, shall be its own champion. It is a word to melt the crowns of tyrants yet: and for such petty worms as you, that eat their way into our human hearts, and take the life-blood smiling, her foot is on thee—her arm of vengeance can reach thee on thrones, or in palaces. Know me for Christian!" And he raised his arm to strike him; but Frederick called for mercy and pardon. Christian said, "Pardon thou hast, but mercy none—and yet a little—as much as thou didst give Gustavus. Art thou so mean a beast as to wish to live in thine own filth, a tyrant's engine of unholy wrath?—O fool! O fool! how worse than mad. What hast thou lost? Where are the shouts up from a thousand hearts made happy by shaking the dull leaves from overblown oppression? Where is the echo that high heaven would send in answer to that peal? Where is thy banner in the victory—thine oath—thine honour—and thy name in heaven? All gone. Would you yet wish to live? Where is thine hatred to a tyrant king? All turned to love—nay, worse, to callous nothing. Thyself remembering, but all else forgot that makes thee worth remembrance. I forget thee not. Poor worm, dost struggle? This for the cause of
