anchor dropped? Speak to the watchman, one! Call to the watch! What news?

Cesario. Aloft! What news?

Voice above. No sail as yet!

Regent. Ah, pardon, sirs! My ears are strung to-day, And play false airs invented by the wind. Methought a hawse-pipe rattled ...

Gamba (chants to his viol). Shepherds, see— Lo! What a mariner love hath made me!

Regent. What chants the Fool?

Gamba. Madonna, 'tis a trifle Made by a silly poet on wives that stand All night at windows listening the surf— Now he comes! Will he come? Alas! no, no!

Lucio. Peace, lively! Madam, there is news—brave news! I'm from the watch-house. There the pilots tell Of sixteen sail to the southward! Sixteen sail, And nearing fast!

Regent. Praise God! dear Lucio!

[She has seated herself again. She takes Lucio's hand and speaks, petting it.

What? Glowing with my happiness? That's like you. But for yourself the hour, too, holds release.

Lucio (between sullenness and shame, with a glance at Cesario). "Release?"

Regent. You will forgive? I have great need To be forgiven: sadly I have been slack In guardianship, and by so much betrayed My promise to our mother's passing soul. Myself in cares immersed, I left the child Among his toys—and turn to find him man— But yet so much a boy that boyhood can (Wistfully) Laugh in his honest eyes? Forgive me, Lucio! Tell me, whate'er have slackened, there has slipped No knot of love. To-morrow we'll make sport, Be playmates and invent new games, and old— Wreath flowers for crowns—

[He drags his hand away. She gazes at him wistfully, and turns to the Captain of the Guard.

 Cesario, What are the suits?

Cesario,

Cesario. They are but three to-day, Madonna. First, a scoundrel here in irons For having struck the Guard.

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