Gycia: A Tragedy in Five Acts

by Lewis Morris

Child. A tramp of armèd men and ring of mail.

Ire. Then, 'tis no fancy of my weary brain.

If it comes again I must inquire into it.

'Tis passing strange. Be not afraid, my child.

'Twas but the wind which echoed through the void

Of the vast storehouses below us. Come,

[Spinning.

Let us to spinning. Twirl and twirl and twirl;

'Tis a strange task.

Child.