CHARLES: Antonio!

CECCO: It dips, my lord.

CHARLES (_frenzied_): O, will great Christ upon it lay no fear!

Let it swoon down as if its sinking sent No signal unto Death--and plunge, plunge thee, Antonio, forever from the day!

Has He no miracle will seize it yet!

Nor will lend now His thunder to cry hold, His lightning to flame off the hands that grasp, Bidden to hurl thee o'er!

CECCO: 'Tis sunk!

CHARLES (_rushing to window_): Yes!--Yes!

(_Starting back horrified._) The vision of it! Ah,--see you not, see!

They lift him, swing him--Now! down, down, down, down!

The rocks! the lash! the foam!

(_Sinks exhausted in his chair. CECCO pours out wine._)

_Enter hurriedly, a SOLDIER._

SOLDIER: Great lord!

CECCO: What now!

It is ill-timed!

SOLDIER: Great lord, there's mutiny!

CECCO: And where?

SOLDIER: Hear me, great sir, there's mutiny!

CECCO: The town? the town?

CHARLES (_rousing_): Ay----?

SOLDIER: Mutiny! your haste!

CHARLES: O, mutiny.

SOLDIER: Sir, yes!

CHARLES: And do the ranks Of h.e.l.l roar up at me?--It is not strange.

SOLDIER (_confused_): The ranks of--pardon, lord.

CHARLES: Do the skies rage----?

They were else dead to madness.

SOLDIER: Sir, it is Your guard beyond the gates.

CHARLES: 'Tis every throat Of earth and realm unearthly has a cry Against me and against!

SOLDIER: No, but a few----

CHARLES: You doubt it?--Are my eyes not b.l.o.o.d.y? Say!

SOLDIER: Sir! sir!

CHARLES: My lips then are not pale with murder Bitterly done?

SOLDIER: Pale--no.

CHARLES: Yet have I killed; Spoke death with them--not reasonless--yet death.

And all the lost have echoes of it: hear You not a spirit clamor on the air?

Ploughing as storms of pain it pa.s.ses through me.

Mutiny? Go. I could call chaos fair, And fawn on infinite ruin--fawn and praise.

(_SOLDIER goes._ Yet will not yield! (_To CECCO._) My robes and coronet!

(_CECCO goes to obey._ I'll sit in them and mock at greatness that A pa.s.sion may unthrone. If we weep not Calamity will leave to torture us, And fate for want of tears will thirst to death!

_Enter CARDINAL._

Ah, priestly sir.

CARDINAL: Infuriate man!

CHARLES: Speak so.

I l.u.s.t for bitterness.

CARDINAL: What have you done!

CHARLES (_shuddering, then smiling_): Watched the sun set. Did it not, think you, bleed Unwontedly along the waves?

CARDINAL: O horror!

Horrible when a father slays and smiles!

CHARLES: Not so, lord Cardinal, not so!--but when He slays and smileth not.

CARDINAL: Beyond all mercy!

CHARLES: Therefore I smile. Men should not mid the trite Enchanting and vain trickery of earth Till they no longer hope of it, or want.

Smiles should be kept for life's unbearable.

CARDINAL: Murderer!

CHARLES: Ah!

CARDINAL: Heretic!

CHARLES: Well.

(_Goes to shrine and casts it out the window._)