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No, please your highness, nothing is forgotten. What sounds are these?

Hast thou forgot we are so near the city? It is the murm'ring night-sounds of her streets. Which the soft breeze wafts to thine ear, thus softly Mix'd with the chafings of the distant waves.

And let me listen too! I love the sound! Like the last whispers of a dying enemy It comes to my pleas'd ear. (Listening.) Spent art thou, proud imperial queen of nations, And thy last accents are upon the wind. Thou hast but one voice more to utter; one Loud, frantic, terrible, and then art thou Amongst the nations heard no more. List! list! I like it well! the lion hears afar Th' approaching prey, and shakes his bridling mane, And lashes with his tail his tawny sides, And so hear I this city's nightly sound.

It is indeed a rich and noble conquest Which heaven unto its favour'd warrior gives.