CHARLES: Must pay with moan
The shriving!--Ah, the sun--the sun--where burns it?
CECCO: Upon a cloud whence it must spring to night.
CHARLES: So low?
CECCO: Sir, yes.
CHARLES: Ah, 'tis? so low?
CECCO: Red now
It rushes forth.
CHARLES: A breathing of the world,
And then!--Antonio!
CECCO: Again a cloud
Withholds.
CHARLES: Antonio!
CECCO: It dips, my lord.
CHARLES (_frenzied_): O, will great Christ upon it lay no fear!
Let it swoon down as if its sinking sent
No signal unto Death--and plunge, plunge thee,
Antonio, forever from the day!
Has He no miracle will seize it yet!
Nor will lend now His thunder to cry hold,
His lightning to flame off the hands that grasp,
Bidden to hurl thee o'er!
CECCO: 'Tis sunk!
CHARLES (_rushing to window_): Yes!--Yes!
(_Starting back horrified._) The vision of it! Ah,--see
you not, see!
They lift him, swing him--Now! down, down, down, down!
The rocks! the lash! the foam!
(_Sinks exhausted in his chair. CECCO pours out wine._)
_Enter hurriedly, a SOLDIER._
SOLDIER: Great lord!
CECCO: What now!
It is ill-timed!
SOLDIER: Great lord, there's mutiny!
CECCO: And where?
SOLDIER: Hear me, great sir, there's mutiny!
CECCO: The town? the town?
CHARLES (_rousing_): Ay----?
SOLDIER: Mutiny! your haste!
CHARLES: O, mutiny.
SOLDIER: Sir, yes!
CHARLES: And do the ranks
Of hell roar up at me?--It is not strange.
SOLDIER (_confused_): The ranks of--pardon, lord.
CHARLES: Do the skies rage----?
They were else dead to madness.
SOLDIER: Sir, it is
Your guard beyond the gates.
CHARLES: 'Tis every throat
Of earth and realm unearthly has a cry
Against me and against!