Count.
Sick! is it so? why, when he came last year
To see me hawking, he was well enough:
And then I taught him all our hawking-phrases.
Lady Giovanna.
Oh yes, and once you let him fly your falcon.
Count.
How charm’d he was! what wonder?—A gallant boy,
A noble bird, each perfect of the breed.
Lady Giovanna (sinks in chair).