That glitters in your rising glory, sir;
And, at our signal, echo to our cry,
'Segismund, King of Poland!' etc.

(Shouts, trumpets, etc.)

SEG.
Oh, how cheap
The muster of a countless host of shadows,
As impotent to do with as to keep!
All this they said before--to softer music.

CAPT.
Soft music, sir, to what indeed were shadows,
That, following the sunshine of a Court,
Shall back be brought with it--if shadows still,
Yet to substantial reckoning.

SEG.
They shall?
The white-hair'd and white-wanded chamberlain,
So busy with his wand too--the old King
That I was somewhat hard on--he had been
Hard upon me--and the fine feather'd Prince
Who crow'd so loud--my cousin,--and another,
Another cousin, we will not bear hard on--
And--But Clotaldo?

CAPT.
Fled, my lord, but close