But my heart and my eyes have made a sweet habit of this gift. Fifteen
years of care, of watchfulness, of study, have I employed to render it
precious to me. I have decked it with the lovely wealth of a thousand
brilliant virtues; I have enshrined in it, by assiduous care, the
rarest treasures that wisdom yields; to it clings the tenderness of my
soul. I have made it the charm, the joy of this heart, the solace of
my wearied senses, the sweet hope of my old age. All this they take
from me--these gods! And thou wouldst have me utter no complaint
concerning this dire edict from which I suffer! Ah! with too much
rigour their power tramples upon the affections of our heart. To
withdraw their gift, have they not waited till I had made it my all?
Rather, if it was their purpose to remove it, had it not been better
to give me nothing?

PSY. My Lord! dread the wrath of those gods whom you dare upbraid.

KING. After this blow, what more can they inflict on me?

PSY. Ah! my Lord! I tremble for your sins, of which I am the cause; I
hate myself for this....

KING. Ah! let them bear with my legitimate complaints; 'tis pain
enough for me to obey them; it ought to suffice them that my heart
abandons thee to the barbarous respect we must bear them, without
claiming also to control the grief that so frightful a decree calls
forth. My just despair can know no bounds. My grief, my grief, I will
nurse it for ever! I will feel for ever the loss I sustain, of
heaven's rigour I will always raise high my complaint; until death I
will unceasingly weep for that than which the whole world could give
me naught more precious.