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.