Past Eight. ZIBO. ZENTURIONE. Huh! It is bitter cold! ZIBO. Eight was the hour appointed! ZENTURIONE (shaking his head.) All is not, as it should be! ZIBO. Fiesko has some Jest in hand, I fancy! A hollow murmur! and now and then the heavy clash of armour! "Tis dreadful! dreadful! ZIBO. A carriage there! It stops before the gateway. THIRD ASSERATO. It will begin directly-Let's begone! (Advancing.) SENTRY. Back-back! Advance not! ASSERATO. Hillo! What does this lead to ? ZENTURIONE (laughing.) (Music in the right wing of the palace.) ASSERATO. you hear that Symphony? The Comedy's com mencing! ZENTURIONE. Methinks indeed it has commenced already, and we're employed to play the fools in it. ZIBO. I'faith, I am not easily offended! But this is past enduring. ZIBO. Stage trumpery, I suppose. ZENTURIONE. And shall we wander here like Ghosts in Tartarus? Come, come! let's to the Coffee-House. (All six rush hastily towards the portal.) SENTRIES (cry out violently.) Back-back! Approach not! ZENTURIONE. Murder and death! We're prisoners! ZIBO. My sword shall soon release us. ASSERATO. Put up, put up, for God's sake; the Count's a Man of Honour ! ZIBO. Bought and betrayed, depend on't. This Play has been the bait, and we are taken! ASSERATO. Forbid it, Heaven! And yet I dread to think how this will terminate ! |