ANNICCA.
What, sister! lost in dreams by daylight? Fie!
Who is the monarch of thy thoughts?
MARIA (starting).
Annicca!
My thoughts are bounden to no master yet;
They fly from earth to heaven in a breath.
Now are they all of earth. Hast heard the tidings?
ANNICCA.
Yea of the prince’s ball? We go together.
Braid in thy hair our mother’s pearls, and wear
The amulet ingemmed with eastern stones;
’T will bring good fortune.
MARIA.
Tell me, ere we go,
What manner of man is John of Austria?
ANNICCA.
Scarce man at all a madcap, charming boy;
Well-favored—you have seen him—exquisite
In courtly compliment, of simple manners;
You may not hear a merrier laugh than his
From any boatman on the bay; well-versed
In all such arts as most become his station;
Light in the dance as winged-foot Mercury,
