The Centurion: He lives? Will he recover?
The Surgeon: No. (He buries a finger in one of the wounds.)
The King (uttering a cry): Ah!
The Centurion: He is coming to himself.
(Pause. The king regains consciousness and looks about him.
The King: Is there a surgeon here?
The Surgeon: I am a surgeon, Sire.
The King: Shall I die?
(The surgeon, who is washing his hands, nods his head.
The King: Who will stand before me and gnash his teeth in my face, and swear