Mortadello

30 MORTADELLO Diced, drabbed, drunk, ate through fairest and through foulest weather ? I never thought to see you here ! [To the eighth.] Due reverence Father, I ought and do pay to your Eminence. [To the ninth.] Sir, I am glad to meet you. May our friendship lime All joys it had imagines. Farewell for the time. [To THE DOGE.] My lord, you whelm the spirit. If such mystery In my realm of the Ten, what shall I deem of the Three ? THE DOGE. My son, the keys of power are in your hand this hour. The garden is yours ; the shower is God’s ; may He grant the flower ! MORTADELLO. Father, I take my leave ; to-morrow’s busi- ness presses. Venice shall wake to joy-bells. THE DOGE. Make the wildernesses To blossom like the rose, my God, in whom I trust. MORTADELLO. Trust me to strike, my father. THE DOGE. Son, we are but dust [They greet solemnly, and MORTADELLO departs by the secret entry. Is it vainglory, or the confidence of youth ? I would give half my realm for certainty of truth. But oh ! my heart misgives me. Pshaw ! I am old ! I am old ! All will be well, will be well. But—how these bones are cold !