Be perfect how to die!
Exit Vittoria.
Raimond enters.
Raim. Away, my Constance!
Now is the time for flight. Our slaughtering bands
Are scatter’d far and wide. A little while
And thou shalt be in safety. Know’st thou not
That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy man
Anselmo?—he whose hermitage is rear’d
Mid some old temple’s ruins? Round the spot