Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Scene I.—A Street in Palermo.

Procida enters.

Pro. How strange and deep a stillness loads the air,

As with the power of midnight! Ay, where death

Hath pass’d, there should be silence. But this hush

Of nature’s heart, this breathlessness of all things,

Doth press on thought too heavily, and the sky,

With its dark robe of purple thunder-clouds,