We bore the son ... and now we bear the father....
Another Voice
And I or you, mayhap, will be the next.
Lizzia [continuing]
These wreaths, they seem a mockery of Heaven.
I pray that God will smite me not—I do
What I am bid!...
Violante [half to herself]
She will not come!...
[To Lizzia]
Is there nothing will cure his madness?
Lizzia