inheritance;
     Him and his old accomplice, time and crime
     Inveterate, and unable to repay
     The golden years of life they stole away. 
     What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep
     The throne he should be judged from?  Down with him,
     That I may trample on the false white head
     So long has worn my crown!  Where are my soldiers? 
     Of all my subjects and my vassals here
     Not one to do my bidding?  Hark!  A trumpet! 
     The trumpet—­

     (He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in Act I.,
      and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind the Throne.)

     King (rising before his throne). 
     Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows
     A memorable note, to summon those
     Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet
     Of him whose head you threaten with the dust,
     Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past
     About you; and this momentary gleam
     Of glory that you think to hold life-fast,
     So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream.

     Seg. 
     He prophesies; the old man prophesies;
     And, at his trumpet’s summons, from the tower
     The leash-bound shadows loosen’d after me
     My rising glory reach and over-lour—­
     But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold,
     But with me back to his own darkness!

     (He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers.)

     Traitors! 
     Hold off!  Unhand me!—­Am not I your king? 
     And you would strangle him!—­
     But I am breaking with an inward Fire
     Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings
     Of conflagration from a kindled pyre
     Of lying prophecies and prophet-kings
     Above the extinguish’d stars—­Reach me the sword
     He flung me—­Fill me such a bowl of wine
     As that you woke the day with—­

     King. 
     And shall close,—­
     But of the vintage that Clotaldo knows.

     (Exeunt.)

ACT III.

Scene I.—­The Tower, etc., as in Act I. Scene I.

Segismund, as at first, and Clotaldo.

     Clotaldo. 
     Princes and princesses, and counsellors
     Fluster’d to right and left—­my life made at—­
     But that was nothing
     Even the white-hair’d, venerable King
     Seized on—­Indeed, you made wild work of it;
     And so discover’d in your outward action,
     Flinging your arms about you in your sleep,
     Grinding your teeth—­and, as I now remember,
     Woke mouthing out judgment and execution,
     On those about you.

     Seg. 
     Ay, I did indeed.

     CLO. 
     Ev’n now your eyes stare wild; your hair stands up—­
     Your pulses throb and flutter, reeling still
     Under the storm of such a dream—­