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Updated: June 29, 2025
Lomellino is procurator." ZENTURIONE. "Lomellino is procurator." And threw his sword upon the table. ASSERATO. And called out, "'Tis good-for-nothing!" and threw his sword upon the table. On what are you resolved? ZENTURIONE. The republic is wounded to its very heart. On what are we resolved? FIESCO. Zenturione, rushes may yield to a breath, but the oak requires a storm.
ZENTURIONE. Therefore come we hither. The whole nobility are insulted in me; the whole nobility must share my vengeance. To avenge my own honor I should not need assistance. ZIBO. The whole nobility are outraged in his person; the whole nobility must rise and vent their rage in fire and flames.
ASSERATO. We are going to the play. ZIBO. A pleasant journey to you! ASSERATO. Are you not going also? ZENTURIONE. Walk on. We'll just take a breath of air first. ASSERATO. 'Twill soon begin. Come. SENTINEL. Back! ASSERATO. What can this mean? To keep you from the palace. ASSERATO. Here's some mistake ZIBO. That's plain enough. ASSERATO. Do you hear the symphony? The comedy is going to begin.
Their souls hover anxiously over their India fleet. ZENTURIONE. Learn to esteem our nobles more justly. Scarcely was Doria's haughty action done when hundreds of them rushed into the street tearing their garments. The senate was dispersed Like frighted pigeons when the vulture darts upon the dovecot. ZENTURIONE. No! ZIBO. The people are enraged.
Fiesco! Andreas is returned half Genoa joins Andreas. Where is Fiesco? Drowning. ZENTURIONE. Does hell or madness prompt thy answer? VERRINA. Drowned if that sound better. I go to join Andreas. By Frederich Schiller PRESIDENT VON WALTER, Prime Minister in the Court of a German Prince. FERDINAND, his son; a Major in the Army; in love with Louisa Miller. WORM, Private Secretary to the President.
Murder! Murder! Doria is down. Stop the Count Lomellino! Spare but my life, I'll join your party. Is this monster yet alive? Let the coward fly. ZENTURIONE. St. Thomas' gate our own! Gianettino slain! Haste some of you and tell Fiesco. Fiesco! Damnation! Freedom to Genoa, and to my Bertha. Your sword, Zenturione. Take to my bride this bloody weapon her dungeon is thrown open.
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