SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Yea, for a moment, wouldst.
[The Spirit of Rumour enters the apartment in the form of a
personage of fashion, newly arrived. He advances and addresses
the group.]
SPIRIT
The Treaty moves all tongues to-night.—Ha, well—
So much on paper!
GENTLEMAN
What on land and sea?
You look, old friend, full primed with latest thence.
SPIRIT
Yea, this. The Italy our mighty pact
Delivers from the French and Bonaparte
Makes haste to crown him!—Turning from Boulogne
He speeds toward Milan, there to glory him
In second coronation by the Pope,
And set upon his irrepressible brow
Lombardy’s iron crown.
[The Spirit of Rumour mingles with the throng, moves away, and
disappears.]
LADY
Fair Italy,
Alas, alas!
LORD
Yet thereby English folk
Are freed him.—Faith, as ancient people say,
It’s an ill wind that blows good luck to none!
MINISTER
Who is your friend that drops so airily
This precious pinch of salt on our raw skin?
GENTLEMAN
Why, Norton. You know Norton well enough?
MINISTER
Nay, ’twas not he. Norton of course I know.
I thought him Stewart for a moment, but—-
LADY
But I well scanned him—’twas Lord Abercorn;
For, said I to myself, “O quaint old beau,
To sleep in black silk sheets so funnily:—
That is, if the town rumour on’t be true.”