(Aside.) And then be desolate like me! My woes
Will at the thought grow light.
Pro. What now remains
To be prepared? There should be solemn pomp
To grace a day like this. Ay, breaking hearts
Require a drapery to conceal their throbs
From cold inquiring eyes; and it must be
Ample and rich, that so their gaze may not
Explore what lies beneath.
[Exit Procida.