Seb. Philip of Spain! We slumber, till aroused
By th’ earthquake’s bursting shock. Hath there not fall’n
A sudden darkness? All things seem to float
Obscurely round me. Now ’tis past. The streets
Are blazing with strange fire. Go, quench those lamps;
They glare upon me till my very brain
Grows dizzy, and doth whirl. How dare ye thus
Light up your shrines for him?
Gon. Away, away!
This is no time, no scene——