Isaac Comnenus A Play |
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Scene III.
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 | Isaac Comnenus |  |
Scene III.
—A suburb.—Theodora and an Officer of the Mæsian Cohort.Theodora.
Who wrote it, knowest thou,—this quavering scrawl?
315
It is the Patriarch's, Lady.
Theodora.
It is like.
Old age hath stricken him. I cannot read it.
Officer.
Princess, if I may be so bold to guess,
His Holiness would see you.
Theodora.
Wherefore so?
Officer.
I know not; he is muttering evermore,
But none can tell his drift. He lies at length
Upon a pallet in St. Cyril's cell.
Theodora.
This day hath overwrought his aged frame.
I will attend him. Keep thy men together,
And send me word of whatsoe'er befalls.
| Isaac Comnenus | |