[Enter the COUNT ALARCOS.]
Hah! the Count! My lord,
In such a night!
V:3:4 ALAR.
A night that's not so wild
As this tempestuous breast. How is she, Oran?
V:3:5 ORAN.
Well.
V:3:6 ALAR.
Ever well.
V:3:7 ORAN.
The children --
V:3:8 ALAR.
Wine, I'm wearied,
The lightning scared my horse; he's galled my arm.
Get me some wine.
[Exit ORAN.]
The storm was not to stop me.
The mind intent construes each natural act
To a personal bias, and so catches judgments
In every common course. In truth the flash,
Though it seemed opening hell, was not so dreadful
As that wild glaring hall.
[Re-enter ORAN with a goblet and flagon.]
Ah! this re-mans me!
I think the storm has lulled. Another cup.
Go see, good Oran, how the tempest speeds.
[Exit ORAN.]
An hour ago I did not dare to think
I'd drink wine more.
[Re-enter ORAN.]
V:3:9 ORAN.
The storm indeed has lulled
As by a miracle; the sky is clear,
There's not a breath of air; and from the turret
I heard the bell of Huelgas.
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