RIBERA. Why should I rise To front the level eyes of men's contempt? Oh, I am shamed! Cover my head, Annicca; Darken mine eyes, and veil my face. Oh, God, Would that I were a nameless, obscure man, So could I bury with me my disgrace, That now must be immortal. Where thou standest, Annicca, there she stood last night. She kissed me; Round mine old neck she wreathed her soft, young arms. My wrinkled cheeks were wet with her warm tears. She shuddered, and I thought it was the thunder Struck terror through her soul. White-bearded fool! FIAMETTA. I found this scrip upon the chamber-floor, Mayhap it brings some comfort. RIBERA (starts up and snatches the paper she offers him, reads it rapidly, then to ANNICCA wildly). Look, look there-- 'T is writ in blood: "My duty to my lord Forbids my telling you our present port." I would track her down with sleuth-hounds, did I not Abhor to see her face. Ah, press thy hands Against my head--my brain is like to burst-- My throat is choked. Help! help! [He swoons.] SCENE IV. A street. Enter LORENZO and a GENTLEMAN, meeting. They salute, and LORENZO is about to pass on. LORENZO. Good-morning, sir. GENTLEMAN. Hail and farewell so soon, Friend dreamer? I will lay a goodly sum The news that flies like fire from tongue to tongue Hath not yet warmed thine ear. LORENZO. What's that? I lay A sum as fair thy news is some dry tale Of courtly gossip, touching me as nigh As the dissensions of the antipodes. GENTLEMAN. Done for a hundred florins! In the night, 'Midst the wild storm whose roar must have invaded Even thy leaden sleep, Prince John left Naples. We should have had a pageant here to-day, A royal exit, floral arches thrown From house to house in all the streets he passed, Music and guard of honor, homage fitting The son of Philip--but the bird has flown. LORENZO. So! I regret our busy citizens, Who sun themselves day-long upon the quays, Should be deprived of such a festival. Your wager's lost--how am I moved by this? GENTLEMAN. Hark to the end. 'T would move all men whose veins Flow not clear water. He hath carried off The Rose of Naples. LORENZO. What wouldst thou say? Speak out! In God's name, who hath followed him? GENTLEMAN. Ah, thou'rt roused. Thy master hath been robbed--the Spagnoletto-- Maria of the Golden Locks--his daughter.