No true knight.—Come, dear Ulric! yield to me

In this, for this one day: the day looks heavy,

And you are turned so pale and ill.

Ulr.‍You jest.

Ida. Indeed I do not:—ask of Rodolph.

Rod.‍Truly,

My Lord, within this quarter of an hour

You have changed more than e'er I saw you change

In years.

Ulr.‍'Tis nothing; but if 'twere, the air