And know the cause! Were it not excellent?
Mon. This is all idle. There are deeds to do:
Arouse thee, Procida!
Pro. Why, am I not
Calm as immortal justice! She can strike,
And yet be passionless—and thus will I.
I know thy meaning. Deeds to do!—’tis well.
They shall be done ere thought on. Go ye forth:
There is a youth who calls himself my son.
His name is Raimond—in his eye is light