And these poor hands wherein life’s blood runs cold,
So that they scarce can lift in Church’s blessing;
Look on my face and see Death written there,
In plainest charactry. Yet know proud Cardinals,
I still am Peter till my latest breath.
(He staggers. Peter catches him in his arms.)
Pet. Great God, he dies. Help! help! lord Cardinals, help!
The greatest soul in Europe passeth now.
Hild. (Staggers to his feet.) I am going Damiani, heard you sounds