A TRAGEDY.
403
JUSTINIANI.
RODRIGO.
With such day's work before them, in good truth,
Not passing merrily.
JUSTINIANI.
It seems a dark and strangely-mixed mass
Of life, wide moving in the misty light
Of early dawn.—I've fought in many a field,
As valiant men and armed warrior's fight,
But such a strange assemblage of new modes
Of mingled war as we this day must face,
I never yet encounter'd.
RODRIGO.
When we have tasted it.
JUSTINIANI.
Of worthless matter, as a noble steed,
Beneath the falling rafters of his shed
Ignobly perishes.
RODRIGO.