Confounds our so-call’d wisdom! Even now

When death has stopt his lips, the wound through which

His soul went out, still with its bloody tongue

Preaching how vain our struggle against fate!

(Voices within.) After them! After them! This way! This way!

The day is ours—Down with Basilio, etc.

Ast. Fly, sir—

King. And slave-like flying not out-ride

The fate which better like a King abide!

Enter Segismund, Rosaura, Soldiers, etc.