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VOROTINSKY. To keep the city's peace, that is the task Entrusted to us twain, but you forsooth Have little need to watch; Moscow is empty; The people to the Monastery have flocked After the patriarch. What thinkest thou? How will this trouble end? SHUISKY. How will it end? That is not hard to tell. A little more The multitude will groan and wail, Boris Pucker awhile his forehead, like a toper Eyeing a glass of wine, and in the end Will humbly of his graciousness consent To take the crown; and thenand then will rule us Just as before. VOROTINSKY. A month has flown already Since, cloistered with his sister, he forsook The world's affairs. None hitherto hath shaken His purpose, not the patriarch, not the boyars His counselors; their tears, their prayers he heeds not; Deaf is he to the wail of Moscow, deaf To the Great Council's voice; vainly they urged The sorrowful nun-queen to consecrate Boris to sovereignty; firm was his sister, Inexorable as he; methinks Boris Inspired her with this spirit. What if our ruler Be sick in very deed of cares of state And hath no strength to mount the throne? What Say'st thou?
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