The King desires me from your mouth to learn
His sentence on my son.
Blan. Oh, Violante!
Men. From me! from me! to whom the King as yet
Has not deliver’d it.—
But what is this? Oh, God!
(The centre door opens and Don Lope is discovered, garrotted, with a paper in his hand, and lights at each side.)
Urr. A sight to turn
Rancour into remorse.
Men. In his cold hand