SWANWHITE. How is it to be understood?
DUKE. This way: the prince is here, is in the court already. Is it your wish to see the prince?
SWANWHITE. Is it my wish?
DUKE. Or shall I first bid you farewell?
SWANWHITE. The prince is here already?
DUKE. Already here, and I—already there—far, far away where sleeps the heron of forgetfulness, with head beneath his wing.
SWANWHITE. [Leaping into the lap of the DUKE and burying her head in his beard] Mustn't speak like that! Baby is ashamed!
DUKE. Baby should be spanked—who forgets her aged father for a little prince. Fie on her!
A trumpet is heard in the distance.
DUKE. [Rises quickly, takes SWANWHITE in his arms, throws her up into the air and catches her again] Fly, little bird, fly high above the dust, with lots of air beneath your wings!—And then, once more on solid ground!—I am called by war and glory—you, by love and youth! [Girding on his sword] And now hide your wonder-horn, that it may not be seen by evil eyes.