MARIA (perceiving RIBERA). What, father! here? RIBERA. Maria!--Ah, my Prince, I crave your pardon. When thus I muse, 't is but my mind that lives; Each outward sense is dead. I saw you not, I heard nor voice nor footstep. Yonder lines That streak the brightening sky east warn us away. For all your grace to us, the Spagnoletto Proffers his thanks to John of Austria. My daughter, art thou ready? DON JOHN. I am bound, Illustrious signor, rather unto you And the signora, past all hope of payment. When may I come to tender my poor homage To the Sicilian master? RIBERA. My lord will jest. Our house is too much honored when he deigns O'erstep the threshold. Let your royal pleasure Alone decide the hour. DON JOHN. To-morrow, then. Or I should say to-day, for dawn is nigh. RIBERA. And still we trespass. Be it as you will; We are your servants. MARIA. So, my lord, good-night. [Exeunt MARIA and RIBERA.] DON JOHN (alone). Gods, what a haughty devil rules that man! As though two equal princes interchanged Imperial courtesies! The Spagnoletto Thanks John of Austria! Louis of France Might so salute may father. By heaven, I know not What patience or what reverence withheld My enchafed spirit in bounds of courtesy. Nay, it was she, mine angel, whose mere aspect Is balm and blessing. How her love-lit eyes Burned through my soul! How her soft hand's slight pressure Tingled along my veins! Oh, she is worthy A heart' religion! How shall I wear the hours Ere I may seek her? Lo, I stand and dream, While my late guests await me. Patience, patience! [Exeunt.] SCENE III. Morning twilight in RIBERA'S Garden. During this scene the day gradually breaks, and at the close the full light of morning illuminates the stage. LORENZO. AUBADE. LORENZO (sings). From thy poppied sleep awake; From they golden dreams arise; Earth and seas new colors take, Love-light dawns in rosy skies, Weird night's fantastic shadows are outworn; Why tarriest thou, oh, sister to the morn? Hearken, love! the matin choir Of birds salutes thee, and with these Blends the voice of my desire. Unto no richer promises Of deeper, dearer, holier love than mine, Canst thou awaken from they dreams divine. Lo, thine eastern windows flame, Brightening with the brightened sky; Rise, and with thy beauty shame Morning's regal pageantry, To thrill and bless as the reviving sun, For my heart gropes in doubt, though night be gone.