_Cesario_ (_watching the Regent_). Peace, man: something
there's amiss.

_Regent._ Yet here is he that sceptre shall inherit.
Lucetta, lead his first-born to the Duke.
His first-born!--Nay but look on him how straight
Of limb, how set and shoulder-square, tho' slender!
He'll sit a horse, in time, and toss a lance
Even with his father.

_Duke._ There's my blessing, boy!
But stand aside. Look in my face, Ottilia--
Hearken me, all! One thing these seven years
My life hath lacked, which wanting, all your cannon,
Your banners, _vivas_, bells that rock the roofs,
Throng'd windows, craning faces--all--all--all
Were phantasms, were noise.--

_Lucio_ (_exclaims_). Why look, here's blood!
Here, on the boy's hand!

_Regent._ Ay! a scratch, no worse,
Here, when I pinned my robe.

_Duke_ (_continuing_). Nay, friends, this moment
My Duchy her dear hand restores to me
To me's a dream. More buoyant would I tread
Dumb street, deserted square, climb ruin'd wall,
Where in a heap beneath a broken flag