SKIR.

I hope he'll be as clever at the next!

TUR.

Shall he outwit me? No, by sun and moon; (_to_ KALAF.) Your joy's precocious--triumph not too soon.

(_Rises and declaims_)--

Canst thou the fragile mirror name, Reflecting all creation on its limpid face; 'Tis closed within a narrow frame, Yet compa.s.ses high heav'n's blue vault of endless s.p.a.ce.

This crystal is of priceless worth, But yet the poor possess it, nor possession pay; It is the brightest gem on earth, It gives and yet receives its heaven-born brilliant ray.

What is this mirror bright and clear, Free given to all, to all so dear?

KALAF (_ponders, then bows to the Princess_).

Your mystery's not hard to penetrate; The mirror you describe so small, so great, So priceless, so benign, "the eye" must be, A heaven 'twill show if thine speak love to me.

PANT. (_embraces_ TART.)

He's shot the bull's-eye through the very middle.

SKIR.

I never knew his equal at a riddle.

DOCTORS (_having opened the papers_).

_Eureka! Optime! Optissimo!_

(_Flourish of gongs and cymbals._)

TART.

_Bravo-o-o! Bravissimo! Benissimo!_

ALT.

I give you joy; you _are_ a clever fellow!

PANT.

Our Chinese Sphinx with rage is turning yellow.

ADELMA.

In vain the Fates themselves would seek to foil me; My rival shall not of my love despoil me.

SKIR.

I wish to Fo-hi all was fairly over!

ADEL. (_to_ Turandot.)

If you be mocked by this conceited lover, Your former victories will naught avail; Your honour's lost if this pert fop prevail.

TUR.

The world shall perish first! Exultant fool!

My hate increases with thy hope to rule.

Escape my wrath whilst yet thy life is free, My vengeance dread, and from the contest flee.

KAL.

Your hate alone, adored Princess, can move My soul. If vainly I implore your love, Then let me die; my life I do not prize If loathsome I appear in your sweet eyes.

ALT.

Hear reason, Prince, nor longer tempt the G.o.ds.

Throw up the game,--too fearful are the odds.

With honour canst thou quit this high divan, For thou'st done more than any other man.

Yet two successes serve not, though they're glorious, Unless for the third time thou be victorious.

And thou, my domineering, wilful child, Wilt not relent towards this youth? Be mild, And graciously accept his suit.

TUR.

Relent!

I scorn his love,--his pity I resent.

The law prescribes three trials. Let's proceed, And try if in the third he may succeed.

KAL.

The G.o.ds decide! "Or death or Turandot!"