University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Old Knight.
From the prince
Commanding us, O lady! I am here
To lay his homage at his liege's feet.
He bids me say, how, at the first approach
Of that auspicious vessel, which brought hither
Before her city's port its lawful queen,
His troops demanded battle. In one hour
He places in your royal hands the keys
Of your own capital, or falls before it.

Giovanna.
God grant he fall not! O return! return!
Tell him there are enow . . without, within . .
And were there not enow . . persuade, implore . .
Show how Taranto wants him; his own country,
His happy people . . they must pine without him!
O miserable me! O most ungrateful!
Tell him I can not see him . . I am ill . .
The sea disturbs me . . my head turns, aches, splits . .
I can not see him . . say it, sir! repeat it.

Knight.
May-be, to-morrow . .

Giovanna.
Worse, to-morrow! worse!
Sail back again . . say everything . . thanks, blessings.

Knight.
Too late! Those thundering shouts are our assault . .
It was unfair without me; it was hard . .
Those are less loud.

Giovanna.
Luigi is repulst!
Perhaps is slain! slain if repulst . . he said it.
Yes; those faint shouts . .

Knight.
Lady, they are less loud
Because the walls are between him and us.

Giovanna
(falls on her knees).
O! every saint in heaven be glorified!
Which, which hath saved him? [Rises.]
Yet, O sir! if walls
Are between him and us, then he is where
His foes are! That is not what you intend?
What is it? Cries again!

Knight.
Not one were heard
Had our prince dropt. The fiercest enemy
Had shrunk appall'd from such majestic beauty
Falling from heaven upon the earth beneath;
And his own people with closed teeth had fought.
Not for their lives, but for his death: no such
Loud acclamation, lady! had been heard,
But louder woe and wailing from the vanquisht.

Giovanna
(aside).
Praises to thee, O Virgin! who concealedst
So kindly all my fondness, half my fears!

Acciajoli.
The dust is rising nearer. Who rides hither
In that black scarf? with something in his hand
Where the sword should be. 'Tis a sword, I see,
In form at least. The dust hangs dense thereon,
Adhesive, dark.

Del Balzo.
Seneschal! it was brighter
This morning, I would swear for it.

Acciajoli.
He throws
The bridle on the mane. He comes.

Del Balzo.
He enters . .
We shall hear all.