Rest not, are anxious without visible cause,
When change is in the elements at work,
Which man's trained senses fail to apprehend.
But here,—he takes the distant chariot-wheel
For thunder, festal flame for lightning's flash,
The finer traits of cultivated life
For treachery and malevolence: I see!
(Enter Tiburzio.)
Lur. Quick, sir, your message! I but wait your message
To sound the charge. You bring no overture