Struck rock and foundered; but no circumstance
So meagre might deprive a son so dear
Of his beloved mother! Have no fear,
The long swim leaves her weary, but quite well.
She knows what tender love her son would tell
And yearns for dawn to bring him to her side.
Nero
(To Anicetus.)
So! Spell your doom from that! You lied! You lied!
I’ll lance that hateful fester in your throat!