18
THE SEPERATION: A TRAGEDY.
SOPHERA.
Old Baldwin, whom his master left behind,
That faithful servant, died with us this morning.
ROVANI.
Well, we have brought you thirsty throats enow
To drink his fun'ral wassals. Ay, poor Baldwin!
A hardy knave thou wert in better days,
If I had known of this. Heaven rest his soul!
I had not sounded my approach so cheerly.
SOPHERA.
We took you for Tortona's warlike lord,
Who, to refresh his passing troops, we hear,
Has made a halt:—I thought
ROVANI.
Why dost thou hesitate?—I will explain it.
I've brought you disappointment.
SOPHERA.
ROVANI.
But,—ere I go,—how does the infant heir?
I must tell Garcio I have seen his boy.
SOPHERA.