Charles: Therefore I smile. Men should not mid the trite
Enchanting and vain trickery of earth
Till they no longer hope of it, or want.
Smiles should be kept for life's unbearable.
Cardinal: Murderer!
Charles: Ah!
Cardinal: Heretic!
Charles: Well.
(Goes to shrine and casts it out the window.)
Cardinal: Fool! fool!
Charles: There are no wise men, O lord Cardinal.
Cardinal: Heaven let Antonio's death under the sea
Make every wave a tongue against your rest,
And 'gainst the rock of this impenitence!
(Charles listens as to something afar off.)
No wind should blow that has not sting of it,
No light stream that it stains not!
Charles (sighing): You have loosed
Your robe, lord prelate—see.