Didymus. I feel the little lovely kiss of death
Breathe at my temples, softer than a bride.
The Prefect. Octavius Didymus, bound in triple cords,
Shall be at sunrise, on the appointed plain,
Beheaded. Gracious Cæsar, hail! all hail!
The Crowd. Hail, Cæsar!
Didymus. These have made me Thine, O Christ!
The Prefect. Reflect: I can revoke, I would revoke.
Name but thy young confederate’s hiding-place.
Didymus. I know not, sir, where Theodora is.