INT. TOWER - NIGHTFALL
The doors open to reveal Segismundo in a chain, dressed in animal skins. There is a light in the tower.
Oh, wretched me! Oh, misery!
You heavens, I demand to know,
since this is how you treat me,
what crime it was I did to you
by being born. And yet, since I was born,
I understand at last
what crime it is I have committed:
your justice and your rigour
have had cause enough to strike,
because the greatest crime
that any man commits is being born.
All I want to know is this,
to put my sleepless nights to rest
(setting aside, you heavens,
the crime of being born):
how else could I have wronged you,
that you should punish me still more?
Were the others not born too?
And if the others were born too,
what privileges did they have
that I have never known?
The bird is born, and in the finery
that makes it beautiful beyond all things,
it's barely a flower of feathers,
a little bouquet with wings,
before it's cutting through the halls
of air, so swift and high,
and turns its back on the comfort
of the quiet nest it leaves behind.
And I, who have more soul than any bird,
am I less free?
The beast is born, and in a hide
that lovely markings paint,
it's barely a scatter of stars
(thanks to the skilful brush)
before, grown bold and cruel,
the need that humans bring
has taught it cruelty,
a monster in its maze.
And I, with better instincts than a beast,
am I less free?
The fish is born, which does not breathe,
spawned out of roe and slime,
and barely sees itself, a ship of scales
afloat upon the waves,
before it's turning every way,
and measuring the vastness
of all the room
the cold deep gives it.
And I, with more free will than any fish,
am I less free?
The stream is born, a snake
that slips its coils among the flowers,
and barely, silver serpent,
has it broken through the flowers
before, a musician, it sings
its thanks to the kindness of the flowers
that give it all the majesty
of open fields to run through.
And I, who have more life than any stream,
am I less free?