Such clouds of wind discharge,
I do not feel the rain.
[King Don Juan of Navarre and Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna advance towards the tent with torch-bearers.
DON JUAN.
Our confidence
Is strict in your direction—not a word
From us to the great Captain, to the Son
Of War: our trust is blind.
You show distress
At this rude blowing, and your velvet cloak
Might well have been afloat upon a river.
Good night; good sleep, my brother César. Scarcely
In Italy the air rolls thus.
CESARE.
Good-night,
Don Juan. Such a fan exasperates,
Entering all senses.
[They shake hands. Don Juan goes out. Cesare motions his torch-bearer to withdraw.
Come, Juanito;
Unarm me. To your tent, Agapito;
You will have rheum to-morrow. [Exit Agapito.
God!—the stroke
Of wing this tempest has: there is no shield.
Lift up the tent-skirt, Juan.
[They go in, and the sound is heard of armour flung on the floor. Then Cesare’s voice is heard.
[Within.] Take a cloak,
A dry one from the press, and bear this message
Back to Don Juan; I forgot.
Look round!
See that my stallion
Is dry, and, fresh-caparisoned, waits ready
In the next tent.