HILDA. Or if indeed thy heart requires
Flame fiercer than my love's Etnaean fires--
Ask what thou wilt, but do not ask that I
Live on. Command me, rather, how to die.
Say in what style thou'dst have me perish here,
So that at least my ardour win one tear!
Choose what thou wilt--I'll execute thy charge--
Nor fear to speak: my repertoire is large.
I can suspend myself upon a rafter;
Fall on my blade, and die with horrid laughter;
Leap from a height; read Bennett's books; or swallow
Poison--and, mark you, with no sweet to follow.