The Count
with Falcon on his hand comes down through the door at back. A
withered wreath on the wall.
ELISABETTA.
So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away so long, came back
last night with her son to the castle.
COUNT.
Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her?
My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor,
My far-eyed queen of the winds--thou that canst soar
Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe'er
Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him
Eagle-like, lightning-like--strike, make his feathers
Glance in mid heaven. [_Crosses to chair_.
I would thou hadst a mate!
Thy breed will die with thee, and mine with me:
I am as lone and loveless as thyself. [_Sits in chair_.
Giovanna here! Ay, ruffle thyself--_be_ jealous!
Thou should'st be jealous of her. Tho' I bred thee
The full-train'd marvel of all falconry,
And love thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna
Be here again--No, no! Buss me, my bird!
The stately widow has no heart for me.
Thou art the last friend left me upon earth--
No, no again to that. [_Rises and turns_.
My good old nurse,
I had forgotten thou wast sitting there.
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