To lift and breast and dance upon the breeze.
Draws home her lord the Duke?

_Crowd._ Long live the Duke!

_Cesario._ The devil, then! Why darken his approach?


_Gamba (from the bench where he has been mending his
viol)._ Because, Captain, 'tis a property knaves
and fools have in common--to stand in their own
light, as 'tis of soldiers to talk bad logic. That
knave, now--he with the red nose and the black
eye--the Duke's colours, loyal man!--you clap
an iron on his leg, and ask him why he is not
down in the city, hanging them out of window!
Go to: you are a soldier!

_Cesario._ And you a Fool, and on your own showing
stand in your own light.

_Gamba._ Nay, neither in my own light, nor as a
Fool. So should myself stand between the sun
and my shadow; whereas I am not myself--these
seven years have I been but the shadow of a
Fool. Yet one must tune up for the Duke.

_(Strikes his viol and sings.)_

"Bird of the South, my Rondinello----"