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Of coursing chariots and approaching crowds,
And courtly tournaments, and tried in vain
To cast my richest mantle o'er my form
To meet the coming show.

ZORADA.

Thy mantle for the show!

BEATRICE.

Yes, but perversely,

Still, as one tassell'd end across my shoulders
I had composed, the others to the ground
Fell dangling all awry. Then I look'd down,
And, O sight of confusion! Canst thou guess
What saw I then?

ZORADA.

Some fearful thing, no doubt.

BEATRICE.

My own bare feet unslipper'd and unhosed,

That on the checker'd floor began to move
In dancing measure. Yea, the very blood
Rush'd to my cheeks; I felt it in my dream.

ZORADA.

How could a dream so vain find harbourage

In thy fantastic brain, my little friend.
On such a dreadful night?

BEATRICE.

It was the tempest's sound that brought the dream.

ZORADA.

So grand a cause producing thoughts so vain!