RIBERA (rising).
Well,
Go we within. Yes, I am late to work;
We squander precious moments. Thou, go rest,
And waken with fresh roses in they cheeks,
To greet our royal guest.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The studio of the Spagnoletto. RIBERA before his canvas. LUCA
in attendance.
RIBERA (laying aside his brush).
So! I am weary. Luca, what 's o'clock?
LUCA.
My lord, an hour past noon.
RIBERA.
So late already!
Well, one more morning of such delicate toil
Will make it ready for Madrid, and worthy
Not merely Philip's eyes, but theirs whose glance
Outvalues a king's gaze, my noble friend
Velasquez, and the monkish Zurbaran.
Luca!
LUCA.
My lord.
RIBERA.
Hath the signora risen?
LUCA.
Fiametta passed a brief while since, and left
My lady sleeping.