A LORD.
The trumpet! There again
How trumpet-like spoke out the blood of Poland!

CHAMB.
Before the morning is far up, your Highness
Will have the trumpet marshalling your soldiers
Under the Palace windows.

SEG.
Ah, my soldiers--
My soldiers--not black-vizor'd?--

CHAMB.
Sir?

SEG.
No matter.
But--one thing--for a moment--in your ear--
Do you know one Clotaldo?

CHAMB.
Oh, my Lord,
He and myself together, I may say,
Although in different vocations,
Have silver'd in your royal father's service;
And, as I trust, with both of us a few
White hairs to fall in yours.