30 
MORTADELLO 
 
Diced, drabbed, drunk, ate through fairest and through 
foulest weather ? 
I never thought to see you here ! 
[To the eighth.] 
Due reverence 
Father, I ought and do pay to your Eminence. 
[To the ninth.]  Sir, I am glad to meet you.  May our 
friendship lime 
All joys it had imagines.  Farewell for the time. 
[To THE DOGE.]  My lord, you whelm the spirit.  If such 
mystery 
In my realm of the Ten, what shall I deem of the Three ? 
THE DOGE.  My son, the keys of power are in your hand this 
hour. 
The garden is yours ;  the shower is God’s ;  may He grant 
the flower ! 
MORTADELLO.  Father, I take my leave ;  to-morrow’s busi-
ness presses. 
Venice shall wake to joy-bells. 
THE DOGE. 
Make the wildernesses 
To blossom like the rose, my God, in whom I trust. 
MORTADELLO.  Trust me to strike, my father. 
THE DOGE. 
 
Son, we are but dust 
[They greet solemnly, and MORTADELLO departs by the 
secret entry. 
Is it vainglory, or the confidence of youth ? 
I would give half my realm for certainty of truth. 
But oh !  my heart misgives me.  Pshaw !  I am old !  I am 
old ! 
All will be well, will be well.  But—how these bones are cold !