Prince Henry. I am as one who on the brink
Of a dark river stands and sees
The waters flow, the landscape dim
Around him waver, wheel, and swim,
And, ere he plunges, stops to think
Into what whirlpools he may sink;
One moment pauses, and no more,
Then madly plunges from the shore! 
Headlong into the dark mysteries
Of life and death I boldly leap,
Nor fear the fateful current’s sweep,
Nor what in ambush lurks below! 
For death is better than disease!

          (An ANGEL with an aeolian harp hovers in the air.)

Angel. Woe! woe! eternal woe! 
Not only the whispered prayer
Of love,
But the imprecations of hate,
Reverberate
Forever and ever through the air
Above! 
This fearful curse
Shakes the great universe!

Lucifer (disappearing). Drink! drink! 
And thy soul shall sink
Down into the dark abyss,
Into the infinite abyss,
From which no plummet nor rope
Ever drew up the silver sand of hope!

Prince Henry (drinking). It is like a draught of fire! 
Through every vein
I feel again
The fever of youth, the soft desire;
A rapture that is almost pain
Throbs in my heart and fills my brain! 
O joy!  O joy!  I feel
The band of steel
That so long and heavily has pressed
Upon my breast
Uplifted, and the malediction
Of my affliction
Is taken from me, and my weary breast
At length finds rest.

  The Angel. It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air
                        has been taken! 
It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken!  It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow!  It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow!  With fiendish laughter, Hereafter,
This false physician
Will mock thee in thy perdition.

Prince Henry. Speak! speak! 
Who says that I am ill? 
I am not ill!  I am not weak! 
The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o’er! 
I feel the chill of death no more! 
At length,
I stand renewed in all my strength! 
Beneath me I can feel
The great earth stagger and reel,
As it the feet of a descending God
Upon its surface trod,
And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel! 
This, O brave physician! this
Is thy great Palingenesis!

          (Drinks again.)

The Angel. Touch the goblet no more! 
It will make thy heart sore
To its very core! 
Its perfume is the breath
Of the Angel of Death,
And the light that within it lies
Is the flash of his evil eyes. 
Beware!  O, beware! 
For sickness, sorrow, and care
All are there!