I augur by your garb—from some late festival?
Vincentio.
A bridal. One of our first citizens
To-night doth wed his daughter—and assembles
The prime of Venice. Light, and flowers, and smiles,
Soon wearied me—who am not wont to toy
My hours away in mirth.
Foscarini.
Then, splenetic,
You left the joyous scene?