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Speak not the word; I'm weaker than I thought.
Is it not near the dawn?

GUZMAN.

I think 'tis distant still.

ROMIERO.

Surely it is not.

We'll to the eastern turret, and look forth:
Should they escape!—My brain burns at the thought.
[Exeunt.

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ACT IV.

SCENE I.—A Grove of Pines, and the Sky of Morning, before Sunrise, seen through them.

Enter Romiero and Guzman from a thicket at the bottom of the Stage.

ROMIERO.

The dull light through yon bank of misty clouds

Hath changed its tanny hue for silver grey;
'T is near, 'tis actually, 't is past the time.

GUZMAN.

Have patience; for the sun, I guess, is still

Behind the eastern hills.

ROMIERO.

Should they escape!—Some cursed emissary,