CLAUDE FROLLO (_aside_). She shudders, quivers in my arms; The priest has won his chance at last! By night I bore her, once, away; Now, in the day, I'll hold her fast! Death, which follows in my train, Will give her back to love again! ESMERALDA. Pity--pity, let me go! Phoebus is dead; he waits above. Alas! I tremble, I'm afraid, I shiver at your frightful love, E'en as the bird which, tortured, dies Beneath the vulture's cruel eyes! CLAUDE FROLLO. Accept me, I love you! Refuse me no more! Have pity for me, for yourself, I implore! ESMERALDA. Your prayer is an insult. CLAUDE FROLLO. Would you rather die? ESMERALDA. The body dies--the soul lives! CLAUDE FROLLO. To die is terrible! ESMERALDA. Hush! your impious words! Your love makes death beautiful! CLAUDE FROLLO. Choose! choose! Or Claude or death! [_Claude falls at Esmeralda's feet in supplication. She repels him._ ESMERALDA. No, murderer, I will not! Hush! A crime is this foul love you've nursed. Better the tomb to which I fly-- Be cursed amid the most accursed! CLAUDE FROLLO. Tremble, for the scaffold claims you! You know not what awful schemes This breast of fury has engendered; And hell abets me in my dreams. How I love thee! Thy hand give, And to-morrow Thou shalt live! Night benumbed With terror's breath! Tears for me, For thee death! Say, "I love thee!" Cease thy scorning; Thy last day Is dawning! Ah! since in vain I supplicate, In vain thy hate I fight, Farewell forever! One day more, Then comes eternal night. ESMERALDA. Inhuman priest. Go! I abhor thee! His dear blood yet Seems dripping o'er thee, Oh, night of horror, Night of shame! Enough of tears; Death I claim! In prison I brave thee, In chains defy! Be thou accursed Eternally! Thy passion be thy punishment! To God my love leads me: The gates of heaven he'll open, But hell shall close o'er thee! [_A jailer appears. Claude Frollo signs to him to lead out Esmeralda. He exits while they drag forth the gypsy._ SCENE II _The area before Notre Dame; the front of the church. The sound of bells is heard_ QUASIMODO. My God! I love, Except myself, All that's here-- The air which passes, And which chases Away care; And the swallow Who is faithful To the old roof; The chapels high O'ershadowed by The Holy Cross; Every rose That grows; Every sight Of delight! Sad creature, I-- Uncouth, ill-made! None envies me! This is life As it is! Darkest night, Bluest sky, What matters it? Every door Leads to God. Ignoble scabbard, Noble blade; Fair my soul God has made. Ring, bells small and great-- Ring on, ring on! Mix well your voices, Gruff and sweet! In the turrets, In the tower, Sing your song!