The lord Duke Cesare
Is worse. Physician!
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
[To the Bishop of Venosa.] Can you leave this bedside?
You cannot!
BISHOP OF VENOSA.
[Rising.] Youth!
Youth and desire of life!
[To attendants.] Fetch me a mule,
And from its hollowed entrails we will tear
Our Cesar reconceived, regenerate:
Or, should the live heat fail, fetch me an oil-jar,
Brimming with vault-drawn water. Haste for life!
The Duke is worse. He shall survive.
[The Pope has opened his eyes.
Dear Father,
I will bring you in an hour word that your Duke
Makes speed to visit you.
[The Doctor and the other Surgeons and Apothecaries, with the Cardinals and Attendants, pass in an excited company from the room.
ALEXANDER.
[To himself.] But Burchard
Alters no muscle: nothing of importance
Therefore has passed....
My Chronicler,
And I have never looked into your books!