The Wonder-Working Magician by Pedro Calderón de la Barca
page 40 of 175 (22%)
page 40 of 175 (22%)
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Oh, sir, rescue me.
LYSANDER. Then hear. I, most beautiful Justina, Am Lysander . . . . This commencement With my name need not surprise you; For though known to you already, It is right, for all that follows, That it should be well remembered, Since of me you know no more Than what this my name presenteth. Yes, I am Lysander, son Of that city which on Seven Hills a hydra seems of stone, Since it seven proud heads erecteth; Of that city now the seat Of the mighty Roman empire, Cradle of Christ's wider realm,-- Boon that Rome alone could merit. There of poor and humble parents I was born, if "poor" expresses Well their rank who left behind them Virtues, not vain earthly treasures. Both of them by birth were Christians, Joyful both to be descended From brave sires who with their blood Happily life's page had reddened, Terminating the dull scroll With death's bright emblazoned letters. In the Christian faith well grounded |
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