Raim. The pang is o’er,
And I have but to die.
Mon. Now, Procida,
Comes thy great task. Wake! summon to thine aid
All thy deep soul’s commanding energies;
For thou—a chief among us—must pronounce
The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee.
Pro. Ha! ha! Men’s hearts should be of softer mould
Than in the elder time. Fathers could doom
Their children then with an unfaltering voice,