use,
I feel some bursting fate, my doomed arm
In vain would ward,

[Enter a MAN AT ARMS.]

How now, hast left thy post?

V:3:2 MAN.
O worthy Castellan, the lightnings play
Upon our turrets, that no human step
Can keep the watch. Each forky flash seems missioned
To scathe our roof, and the whole platform flows
With a blue sea of flame.

V:3:3 ORAN.
It is thy post.
No peril clears desertion. To thy post.
Mark me, my step will be as prompt as thine;
I will relieve thee.

[Exit MAN AT ARMS.]

Let the mischievous fire
Wither this head. O Allah! grant no fate
More dire awaits me.

[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.