]
II:2:1 ALAR.
'Tis circumstance makes conduct; life's a ship,
The sport of every wind. And yet men tack
Against the adverse blast. How shall I steer,
Who am the pilot of Necessity?
But whether it be fair or foul, I know not;
Sunny or terrible. Why let her wed him?
What care I if the pageant's weight may fall
On Hungary's ermined shoulders, if the spring
Of all her life be mine? The tiar'd brow
Alone makes not a King. Would that my wife
Confessed a worldlier mood! Her recluse fancy
Haunts still our castled bowers. Then civic air
Inflame her thoughts! Teach her to vie and revel,
Find sport in peerless robes, the pomp of feasts
And ambling of a genet --
[A serenade is heard.]
Hah! that voice
Should not be strange. A tribute to her charms.
'Tis music sweeter to a spouse's ear
Than gallants dream of. Ay, she'll find adorers.
Or Burgos is right changed.
[Enter the COUNTESS.]
Listen, child.
[Again the serenade is heard.]
II:2:2 COUN.
'Tis very sweet.
II:2:3 ALAR.
It is inspired by thee.
II:2:4 COUN.
Alarcos!
II:2:5 ALAR.
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