Delivers from the French and Bonaparte
Makes haste to crown him!--Turning from Boulogne
He speeds toward Milan, there to glory him
In second coronation by the Pope,
And set upon his irrepressible brow
Lombardy's iron crown.

[The Spirit of Rumour mingles with the throng, moves away, and
disappears.]


LADY

Fair Italy,
Alas, alas!


LORD

Yet thereby English folk
Are freed him.--Faith, as ancient people say,
It's an ill wind that blows good luck to none!


MINISTER

Who is your friend that drops so airily
This precious pinch of salt on our raw skin?