English

Officer . An armed crowd, my liege, are entering
The city; and the people gathering on with them
Cry for Rodrigo de Bivar
King . Keep still
And in your places. Go you forth, and see, Sir.

Enter another Officer

2 d Off . My lord, the strangest cavalcade is coming, —
The vassals of the old Count Lainez, headed
By the five Moorish Kings, — although the latter
Are said to be taken prisoners. They say too

Dieg. It is the time he mentioned in his letter
For snatching this farewell. The night is fierce
And dark, as if the spirit of Lozano
Were maddening to remain, and still disturb us.
But now its worst is best. Oh, my great son,
Whose rarity sends thee out of house and home
To walk the inclement world, like to the spirit
Of Nature whom thou lovest, every sound
Of the wide-washing rain and headlong wind
Makes me think piteously of thy lorn state
And filial martyrdom, till I resent

Scene [III] — The Square of the old Moorish Palace, the Vesper-bell going Enter L OZANO and P ERANZULES .

Loz . Nobody here — This is a stately place,
Fit for some great encounter.
Per . It was here
Mudarra fought with all that crowd at once.
Loz . Mudarra! So it was We paint our ancestors
Too stout, I fear, if he escaped so well
He was gigantic.
Per . Yes.
Loz . I wonder that

Various scenes take place in this interval between L OZANO and his friends , X IMENA and hers, &c. Then follows a scene [ II ], with a road over a hill, to which enter D IEGO and his Son .
Dieg . That hill, with its long task, reminded me
Of my small sum of breath; — but thou?
Rod . Could shout, father,
Orders to a whole army at its foot.
Dieg . Bless thee. I thought I saw, a little on,
Lozano Was it so?
Rod . It was. I saw him.

SCENE [I] — A Room in D IEGO'S House Enter D IEGO and A RIAS

Diego . I tell you, Sir, it is impossible.
Conceal it? What! Conceal? What with a face
That never yet could look the easiest lie,
Nor play the wax-lipped servant at the door,
Denying who's within! Conceal it? So!
And smite my conscience, as the dog smote me!
Arias . But, Sir, you live, upon the whole, retired:
Why not live quite so for a time; and so
Let the thing die away, even in your looks.

SCENE III. — An apartment in the Palace Candian . V ITTORIA and F IAMMETIA sitting together, with books music, and flowers about them; the former with her face towards a looking-glass, adjusting something about her head .
Fiam. My dear, dear mother, let me make you merry again.
I'm merry.
Vit. Be so, child, — be so, dear child.
Fiam. You see how stout I am; I'm drest before you.
'Twas but a kind of unexpected bath.
'Twas frightful to be sure; the sudden missing

Scene [II] — The front of the Candian Palace

Enter G REGORY

Contarini . The Englishmen indeed, Sir, have graced us,
Not we the Englishmen. How instantly
Sebastian's friends laid himself out o' the boat,
Before our thoughts had time to find themselves,
And gave us back our pale one.
Molino . Like a god
In his own element. 'Twas a strange thing, —
That sudden shock. I never knew the like
Happen before in Venice, though our gondolas
Serve us for every purpose of the road,
And pierce about like fish

While bent on singing your delightful gifts
In lofty rhyme, O little virgins chaste,
Sweet little angels of the flowery brooks,
Sleep seized me on the golden point of morn,
And I beheld a choir of your small people,
Who, with the tongue with which they take the honey,
Buzzed forth in the clear air these earnest words: —
" O friendly soul, that after the long lapse
Of thrice five hundred years, dost please thee sing
Our toils and art, shun — shun, we pray thee, rhyme:
Shun rhyme, and its rebounding noise. Full well

'T IS not wealth that makes a king,
Nor the purple's colouring,
Nor a brow that 's bound with gold,
Nor gates on mighty hinges rolled
The king is he, who void of fear,
Looks abroad with bosom clear;
Who can tread ambition down,
Nor be swayed by smile or frown;
Nor for all the treasure cares,
That mine conceals, or harvest wears,
Or that golden sands deliver,
Bosomed in a glassy river

What shall move his placid might?
Not the headlong thunderlight,
Nor the storm that rushes out