Is not to be restrained—defying blows,
The prancing charger's hoofs, the sbirri's staves,
They crowd around the hero, fill the air
With shouts of Sforza! Sforza! brave Geraldi!—
Seize on his courser's reins, and press their lips
Upon his flowing mantle.
Angelo.
Ah, 'tis like,—
Set up an image to the populace,
Decked with a few vain trophies, they will fall
In mad idolatry to worship it.
Carlotti.
Modest and mild, yet cheerful, Sforza reins
His haughty steed, giving to all the crowd
Warm thanks, and kinder smiles. A gallant train,
The nobles of the city, ride behind,
Bearing the spoils of Tunis, all enwreathed
With laurel foliage: from the balconies,
Filled with the fairest and the noblest dames,
Are flung rich perfum'd scarves, chaplets, and crowns;
