It was the day before the duke took the fatal draught which he believed was to confer on the mortal the immortal boon that, finding my power over him was gone, I abandoned him to his doom.
"On the night on which your grandsire breathed his last, I was standing alone at moonlight on the ruins of Persepolis,--for my wanderings, space hath no obstacle.

But a truce with this: I loved your grandsire; I would save the last of his race.

Oppose not thyself to Zicci.

Oppose not thyself to thine evil passions.

Draw back from the precipice while there is yet time.