Part 2 (1/2)

_Cesario._ Way there! Give room! The Regent comes from Ma.s.s.

Guards, b.u.t.t them on the toes--way there! give room!

p.r.i.c.k me that laggard's leg-importunate fools!

_Guards._ Room for the Regent! Room!

[_The sacring bell rings within the Chapel._

_Cesario._ Hark there, the bell!

[_A pause. Men of the crowd take off their caps._

Could ye not leave, this day of all the year, Your silly suits, pet.i.tions, quarrels, pleas?

Could ye not leave, this once in seven years, Our Lady to come holy-quiet from Ma.s.s.

Lean on the wall, and loose her cage-bird heart, To lift and breast and dance upon the breeze.

Draws home her lord the Duke?

_Crowd._ Long live the Duke!

_Cesario._ The devil, then! Why darken his approach?

_Gamba (from the bench where he has been mending his viol)._ Because, Captain, 'tis a property knaves and fools have in common--to stand in their own light, as 'tis of soldiers to talk bad logic. That knave, now--he with the red nose and the black eye--the Duke's colours, loyal man!--you clap an iron on his leg, and ask him why he is not down in the city, hanging them out of window!

Go to: you are a soldier!

_Cesario._ And you a Fool, and on your own showing stand in your own light.

_Gamba._ Nay, neither in my own light, nor as a Fool. So should myself stand between the sun and my shadow; whereas I am not myself--these seven years have I been but the shadow of a Fool. Yet one must tune up for the Duke.

_(Strikes his viol and sings.)_

”Bird of the South, my Rondinello----”

Flat-Flat!

_Cesario (calling up to watchman on the Chapel roof)._ Ho there! What news?

_A Voice._ Captain, no sail!

_Cesario._ Where sits The wind?

_Voice._ Nor' west, and north a point!

_Cesario._ Perchance They have down'd sail and creep around the flats.

_Gamba (tuning his viol)._ Flats, flats! the straight horizon, and the life These seven years laid by rule! The curst ca.n.a.l Drawn level through the drawn-out level sand And thistle-tufts that stink as soon as pluck'd!