Charles (rises): A mite! a mite of it!
The rest is I will wed where I will wed
Though every hill of earth raise up its pope
To bellow at me thunderous damnation!
I will—I will— (Falls back convulsed.)
Fulvia (hastening to him): Charles, ah! Wine for him, wine! (It is brought.)
Antonio: Lord Cardinal, spare yourself more and go.
You shall learn if a change may loose this strain.
(The Cardinal goes with his suite amid timid reverence.)
Charles (struggling): I will—this frenzy—off my throat—! I— (Recovering.) Ah,
Thou, Fulvia? 'Twas as a fiend swung on me.
And shame! fear oozes out upon my brow,
And I——. (Rises and calms himself.) Forgive, friends, this so sudden wrench
Upon your pleasure. One too quick made saint,
Stands feebly: but at once wilt I atone.
Where is Diogenes—where is he? His
Tangled fantastic wisdom shall divert us.
(Diogenes, who has stood unconscious of all that has passed, is pushed forward.)
Ah, peer of Socrates and perfect Plato,
Leave your unseeing silence now and tell us——
Enter Agabus gazing anxiously and wildly before him.
Who's this?
Agabus (hoarsely): Where went he—the Shadow?—whither?