On Hungary's ermined shoulders, if the spring
Of all her life be mine? The tiar'd brow
Alone makes not a King. Would that my wife
Confessed a worldlier mood! Her recluse fancy
Haunts still our castled bowers. Then civic air
Inflame her thoughts! Teach her to vie and revel,
Find sport in peerless robes, the pomp of feasts
And ambling of a genet--

[A serenade is heard.]

Hah! that voice
Should not be strange. A tribute to her charms.
'Tis music sweeter to a spouse's ear
Than gallants dream of. Ay, she'll find adorers.
Or Burgos is right changed.

[Enter the COUNTESS.]

Listen, child.

[Again the serenade is heard.]

II:2:2 COUN.
'Tis very sweet.

II:2:3 ALAR.
It is inspired by thee.

II:2:4 COUN.
Alarcos!

II:2:5 ALAR.
Why dost look so grave? Nay, now,
There's not a dame in Burgos would not give
Her jewels for such songs.

II:2:6 COUN.
Inspired by me!

II:2:7 ALAR.
And who so fit to fire a lover's breast?
He's clearly captive.

II:2:8 COUN.
O! thou knowest I love not
Such jests, Alarcos.

II:2:9 ALAR.
Jest! I do not jest.
I am right proud the partner of my state
Should count the chief of our Castillian knights
Among her train.

II:2:10 COUN.
I pray thee let me close
These blinds.

II:2:11 ALAR.
Poh, poh! what, baulk a serenade?
'Twould be an outrage to the courtesies
Of this great city. Faith! his voice is sweet.

II:2:12 COUN.
Would that he had not sung! It is a sport
In which I find no pastime.

II:2:13 ALAR.
Marry, come,
It gives me great delight. 'Tis well for thee,
On thy first entrance to our world, to find
So high a follower.

II:2:14 C