Yet slander loudly hissed with plague-fraught breath
A thousand falsehoods; told of Moorish gold,
Of coward terrors, trifling, weak designs,
Blasted my name, and held me up to scorn.
Carlotti.
A poor return! 'Tis an ungrateful world
Yet let not this depress you; soon, perchance, ⠀⠀
A time may come that shall retrieve the ills
You labour under.
Angelo.
Never, Carlotti;
Never, whilst Julian and Geraldi live.
They are my rival stars, and shine so bright,
I am eclipsed, o'erpowered, sunk in thick
Impenetrable darkness. By my birth
A prince; in person——'tis poor vanity
To plume one's self on mere exterior,
And chance advantages; yet I may boast
A form, cast in as grand and pure a mould
As Julian's, or as Sforza's; and my mind—
