Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma, PRECIOSA. Oh yes! I see it now, Yet rather with my heart, than with mine eyes, The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide, VICTORIAN. O gentle spirit! Thou didst bear unmoved PRECIOSA. Stay no longer! My father waits. Methinks I see him there, CHISPA. I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas and alack-a-day! Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither win nor lose. Thus I wag through the world, half the time on foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a thunder-storm in the night. And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox. Who knows what may happen? Patience, and shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my brains; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and come back Saint Peter. Benedicite! [Exit. (A pause. Then enter BARTOLOME wildly, as if in pursuit, with a carbine in his hand.) BARTOLOME. They passed this way! I hear their horses' hoofs! |