His dress betokens that. What have you said That this clod could construe as treasonable? Alardo. I but suggested that your highness' sire May yet be canopied by yon blue sky, With no damp mouldering roof, or watery pall Between him and the tabernacling air; That you would joy at loss of sovereignty To clasp Alardo in your arms once more; Whereon this loyal sirrah bellowed out, And laid on me officious needless hands. Rupert. Ha! those of your profession are not wont To talk at random even in courtesy. Approach us nearer; we would speak with you.-- [To Ivy.] For you, sir--there: we pay your blundering faith. [To Alardo.] Now, summon to thine aid thy powerfullest sprite; Or if thy demon be unknown, and speed All unappealed and unannounced, whether He fly from heaven or mid-aerial limbo, Subdue all motion and prostrate thy will, Yea, let thy soul evacuate, that, void, Thy genius may usurp its empty fane, And prophesy with scope and native truth. To question were to slight thy divination; Therefore say sooth of all I seek to know. Alardo. Two things by thee desired most Cannot be thine: one must be lost: One's forfeit is the other's cost. Rupert. An oracle. Expound it now, good sage. Alardo. Remember one, absent and dear; Think of another, loved and near; Their interests clash; their clashing fear. Before the moon does twice uplight The dusky countenance of night, It shall be past, this bosom-fight. Rupert. I understand, and half believe, because On an event so sudden and unlike As that of King Alardo's re-appearance Thou stak'st thy fame thus openly. Say more. Alardo. No more to-day; I am dispirited: And never twice 'twixt ruddy morn and morn Are we with visionary prospect blessed. Your eyes are on my comrade. Brother, speak. Conrad. Nothing to you, Prince Rupert. There is one Of lowlier state whom I have news to tell. He yonder stands and broods with eyes downcast. Rupert. Cinthio, hither and hear thy fortune told. Alardo. Prince, I have converse for your private ear. [They talk apart. Cinthio. Soothsayers and augurers of old were held In high repute for dreams and prophecies. Their star is waning now, their traffic being Unto a race, better in being busy, In barren, fallow fancy, how much worse! Divine you from the stars, old man; or from Men's shapes, complexions, palms, dreams and the like? Scan you a mutton's clean-picked shoulder-blade, Or have you any visionary aid? Conrad. I'll tell thee truths about thyself thou know'st not. Cinthio. Say on. Conrad. Three lustres has this orb in heaven rung, Swinging around its vast and vaulted bell Of measured space, striking its own deep knell From side to side, a huge and pendulous tongue, Since thou, then five years' journey to thy grave, Wast filched most vilely from a lordly home. Thou shalt not, shepherd, twice Pan's blessing crave,