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!
Soldier: No, but a few——
Charles: You doubt it?—Are my eyes not bloody? Say!
Soldier: Sir! sir!
Charles: My lips then are not pale with murder
Bitterly done?
Soldier: Pale—no.