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 Now some evil eye doth hover This ill-omened structure over; False thy star, my son. Round about this palace dread Witches in the dark have said Their mystic ritual. 'Neath these purple trappings gay, 'Neath this spangled canopy, Ghastly skeletons we'd see Should the hangings fall; And on yonder stairway wide Doth the gorgeous carpet hide From thy feet, thou regicide, The gibbet's deathly pall.

Trick and Giraff [applauding.]Most excellent! Trick. My friends, I've an idea!

While Gramadoch, above us, gravely holds The robe of Cromwell, at the solemn moment, Before the Parliament, and to the beards Of the self-satisfied mace-bearing clerks, We'll make him laugh aloud with our grimaces. Elespuru [clapping his hands. Well thought on! Giraff [capering about the stage.]Good! A Voice Outside [singing.

When the Abbess averts her eye, I Conceive that her glance doth imply A lie. In vain throbs her heart in the place Of grace;