But yet no violence?

LORD.
At most, impatience;
Wearied perhaps with importunities
We yet were bound to offer.

KING.
Oh, Clotaldo!
Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk
The potion he revives from! such suspense
Crowds all the pulses of life's residue
Into the present moment; and, I think,
Whichever way the trembling scale may turn,
Will leave the crown of Poland for some one
To wait no longer than the setting sun!

CLO.
Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn,
And each must play his part out manfully,
Leaving the rest to heaven.

KING.
Whose written words
If I should misinterpret or transgress!
But as you say--
(To the Lord, who exit.)
You, back to him at once;
Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used
To the new world of which they call him Prince,