And unrest blaged up on all sides
Fred by Bentivoglio's return.
Men felt that they were threatened if not betrayed.
The mercenaries at the Isaia gate
Decided to retroat to the castle, there
To seek an answer, and to learn the outlook.
Ribaldi led them there, and behind them
A Klood of excited populace stormed the gate.
And it was opened, and before us stood -
Did not the cry of joy reach here?
Bentvoglio and your friend Andrea.
Filippo
(Risesionxcited)
He too?
Ereole
That's why I wonder that you are at home.
Is it not known to you, that he's returned,
Κnow you not also, that his mother died,
This night, ere he returned?
Agostino
Didst hear Fillppo?
Teresina s mother is dead!
Filippo
(Somewhat confused)
Then it was
Not permitted to at Andrea should notürbrace her?
Agostino
And you say nothing more, Filippo?
Filippo
T duly,
It is painful that so good a woman should die.
Ereole
(Astonished)
Where am I? Soon it will seem to me that what
Is transpiring without is not real! Under these branches
The air is still, and knows nothing of the
Throbbing earnest of the day. What ails you, Filippo?
Fred by Bentivoglio's return.
Men felt that they were threatened if not betrayed.
The mercenaries at the Isaia gate
Decided to retroat to the castle, there
To seek an answer, and to learn the outlook.
Ribaldi led them there, and behind them
A Klood of excited populace stormed the gate.
And it was opened, and before us stood -
Did not the cry of joy reach here?
Bentvoglio and your friend Andrea.
Filippo
(Risesionxcited)
He too?
Ereole
That's why I wonder that you are at home.
Is it not known to you, that he's returned,
Κnow you not also, that his mother died,
This night, ere he returned?
Agostino
Didst hear Fillppo?
Teresina s mother is dead!
Filippo
(Somewhat confused)
Then it was
Not permitted to at Andrea should notürbrace her?
Agostino
And you say nothing more, Filippo?
Filippo
T duly,
It is painful that so good a woman should die.
Ereole
(Astonished)
Where am I? Soon it will seem to me that what
Is transpiring without is not real! Under these branches
The air is still, and knows nothing of the
Throbbing earnest of the day. What ails you, Filippo?