And lying in a weary trance, half sleep,
Heard shouts and cries and noise of joyful stir
Run through the palace, and quick echoing feet,
And little Cosmo thundering at my door.
“Wake, Dianora, here is glorious news!
Ippolito, our foeman’s only son,
Is caught red-handed on some midnight raid,
Taken with a rope-ladder ’neath his cloak,
Bound for some theft or felony, no doubt;
And as he offers neither excuse nor plea,