Guard. ... How feel you?
Jacopo Foscari. Like a boy—Oh Venice!
Guard. And your limbs?
Jac. Fos. Limbs! how often have they borne me
Bounding o’er yon blue tide, as I have skimm’d
The gondola along in childish race,
And, masked as a young gondolier, amidst
My gay competitors, noble as I,
Raced for our pleasure, in the pride of strength;
While the fair populace of crowding beauties,