Do you call me a camel, Sir?
Wal. What's your business?
Page. My errand is to the Princess here.
Eliz. To me?
Page. Yes; the Landgravine expects you at high mass; so go in, and
mind you clean yourself; for every one is not as fond as you of
beggars' brats, and what their clothes leave behind them.
Isen [strikes him]. Monkey! To whom are you speaking?
Eliz. Oh, peace, peace, peace! I'll go with him.
Page. Then be quick, my music-master's waiting. Corpo di Bacco! as
if our elders did not teach us to whom we ought to be rude! [Ex.
Eliz. and Page.]
Isen. See here, Sir Saxon, how this pearl of price
Is faring in your hands! The peerless image,
To whom this court is but the tawdry frame,--
The speck of light amid its murky baseness,--
The salt which keeps it all from rotting,--cast
To be the common fool,--the laughing stock
For every beardless knave to whet his wit on!
Tar-blooded Germans!--Here's another of them.
[A young Knight enters.]
Knight. Heigh! Count! What? learning to sing psalms? They are
waiting
For you in the manage-school, to give your judgment
On that new Norman mare.
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