 | Masque of the Seasons |  |
Where is Fiesco now?
Isabella.
Oh you should see him!
Celia is showing him her gay saloon
Sparkling with lamps and flowers, and her quaint masque
Of country lasses, cunningly prankt out
With rustic finery. The little thief
Hath stolen all my roses—all save this—
To deck the pretty damsel she calls spring.
And there is she turning them round and round
To be admired; and there are they, all blushes,
Curtsying with coy and shamefaced bashfulness,
Yet full of a strange joy; and there is he
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Delighting and delighted: We must join them.
| Masque of the Seasons | |