If reason, sense, and self-identity
Obliterated from a worn-out brain,
Art thou not maddest striving to be sane,
And catching at that Self of yesterday
That, like a leper's rags, best flung away!
Or if not mad, then dreaming--dreaming?--well--
Dreaming then--Or, if self to self be true,
Not mock'd by that, but as poor souls have been
By those who wrong'd them, to give wrong new relish?
Or have those stars indeed they told me of
As masters of my wretched life of old,
Into some happier constellation roll'd,
And brought my better fortune out on earth
Clear as themselves in heaven!--Prince Segismund
They call'd me--and at will I shook them off--
Will they return again at my command
Again to call me so?--Within there! You!
Segismund calls--Prince Segismund--

(He has seated himself on the throne.
Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.)

CHAMB.
I rejoice
That unadvised of any but the voice
Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness
Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill.

SEG.
The chair?