E’en now the sun declines.
De Cou. What! are they arm’d?
Alb. All arm’d, and strong in vengeance and despair.
De Cou. Doubtful and strange the tale! Why was not this reveal’d before?
Alb. Mistrust me not, my lord!
That stern and jealous Procida hath kept
O’er all my steps (as though he did suspect
The purposes, which oft his eye hath sought
To read in mine) a watch so vigilant
I knew not how to warn thee, though for this