_Barrere._ Are the sections friendly? _Robespierre._ There are who wish my ruin--but I'll make them Blush for the crime in blood! _Barrere._ Nay--but I tell thee, Thou art too fond of slaughter--and the right 165 (If right it be) workest by most foul means! _Robespierre._ _Self-centering Fear!_ how well thou canst ape _Mercy_! Too fond of slaughter!--matchless hypocrite! Thought Barrere so, when Brissot, Danton died? Thought Barrere so, when through the streaming streets 170 Of Paris red-eyed Massacre o'erwearied Reel'd heavily, intoxicate with blood? And when (O heavens!) in Lyons' death-red square Sick Fancy groan'd o'er putrid hills of slain, Didst thou not fiercely laugh, and bless the day? 175 Why, thou hast been the mouth-piece of all horrors, And, like a blood-hound, crouch'd for murder! Now Aloof thou standest from the tottering pillar, Or, like a frighted child behind its mother, Hidest thy pale face in the skirts of--_Mercy_! 180 _Barrere._ O prodigality of eloquent anger! Why now I see thou'rt weak--thy case is desperate! The cool ferocious Robespierre turn'd scolder! _Robespierre._ Who from a bad man's bosom wards the blow Reserves the whetted dagger for his own. 185 Denounced twice--and twice I saved his life! [_Exit._ _Barrere._ The sections will support them--there's the point! No! he can never weather out the storm-- Yet he is sudden in revenge--No more! I must away to Tallien. [_Exit._ 190 _SCENE changes to the house of ADELAIDE._ _ADELAIDE enters, speaking to a_ Servant. _Adelaide._ Didst thou present the letter that I gave thee? Did Tallien answer, he would soon return? _Servant._ He is in the Thuilleries--with him Legendre-- In deep discourse they seem'd: as I approach'd He waved his hand as bidding me retire: 195 I did not interrupt him. [_Returns the letter._ _Adelaide._ Thou didst rightly. [_Exit_ Servant. O this new freedom! at how dear a price We've bought the seeming good! The peaceful virtues And every blandishment of private life, The father's cares, the mother's fond endearment, 200 All sacrificed to liberty's wild riot. The wingéd hours, that scatter'd roses round me, Languid and sad drag their slow course along, And shake big gall-drops from their heavy wings. But I will steal away these anxious thoughts 205 By the soft languishment of warbled airs, If haply melodies may lull the sense Of sorrow for a while. [_Soft music._ _Enter TALLIEN._