Cli. O Madness! Come from this hell: fly while thou mayst!
Mar. Ay, sit, mate, sit! be not afeard! sit with us!
Cli. Woe to you, slaves of Babylon! woe cometh To the queen that sits upon the seven hills.
1st Mar. That is Rome: the seven hills is Rome. What of Babylon?
Cli. Rome shall be burned with fire, Babylon burned, Her smoke shall curl to heaven.
Enter Gripus, out of breath.
GRIPUS.
Gone, she’s gone down!
Pro. What’s gone, man?
Gri. The theater; foundered, sir, gone clean down. I had just got well clear of her, when she gave a lurch, and plumped under starn-foremost in a cloud of dust.