He is to suffer at the hour of noon,
In spite of his proud father’s threats and cries.
All that the criminal asks by way of boon
Is he may pass our palace as he goes
Unto the scaffold. A queer fancy that!
But all the better sport it makes for us,
And we need neither pity nor deny!
So rise, sweet sister, don your bravest gear,
For all the household on the balcony
Will sit to jeer the fellow as he wends,