That queries whence this newer king shall reign.'
'The offspring of a Moor, he makes his nest
In sweet Cecilia's arms—I saw his light
Shine through the brooding feathers of her love;
Now, must I hide me in the cloudy west,
Eclipsed by one more radiant and more bright,
Who shall greater God than Phœbus prove.'
The duke bestowed a silver piece upon the poet.
'Bernardo, let it not slip your memory that Saturday is the birthday of the duchess.'
Bellincioni hastily fumbled in the folds of his courtly but threadbare raiment, and from some recess therein drew forth a whole sheaf of tumbled papers; and among grandiloquent odes on the death of Madonna Angelina's falcon, and the disorder of Signor Paravicino's dappled Hungarian mare, found the verses required.