Of our tried hearts’ forgiveness. Who are they,
That in one path have journey’d, needing not
Forgiveness at its close?
A Citizen enters hastily.
Cit. The Moors! the Moors!
Gon. How! is the city storm’d?
O righteous heaven! for this I look’d not yet!
Hath all been done in vain? Why, then, ’tis time
For prayer, and then to rest!
Cit. The sun shall set,