Queen. Floriana,
You yield too much to fear: misfortune brings
Sorrow enough; 'tis envy[278] to ourselves
T' augment it by prediction.

Enter Sanmartino.

Cle. See, your lord!

San. Fly, madam, fly! The army of Castile,
Conducted by an unknown leader, masters
The town. Decastro, yielding up his fate
To the prevailing enemy, is fled.

Cle. And shall the queen fly from her friends, my lord?

San. You have reason, madam. I begin to find
Which way the gale of favour now will blow.
I will address to the most fortunate. [Exit Sanmartino.

Queen. Some music, there! my thoughts grow full of trouble.
I'll re-collect them.

Cle. May it please you, madam,
To hear a song presented me this morning?

Queen. Play anything.

SONG.[279]