The Countess in her chamber. She complains
That you are a sad truant to your music:
She attends you.
Ida.Then good morrow, my kind kinsmen!
Ulric, you'll come and hear me?
Ulr.By and by.
Ida. Be sure I'll sound it better than your bugles;270
Then pray you be as punctual to its notes:
I'll play you King Gustavus' march.
Ulr.And why not