_On the hills above Monreale. Brigands fantastically dressed and
armed are seated about on the rocks, with drinking-cups and remains
of feast. PALICIO, in a black suit, his right arm in a sling. Much
talking and singing, or the scene may open with the following song_—
_SONG._
_I would not change the hills that I range
For a house in the city street:_ 1280
_Nor the price on my head for a tax on my bread.
Liberty, lads, is sweet._
(_Palicio getting up on a rock waves them to silence._)
_SQUARCIALUPU._
Long live Lord Palicio!
_All._ Huzzah! Huzzah!
_PALICIO._
Thank you, my men. Now silence; I must tell you
The feast is o’er, our meeting at an end.
We have laid our plans: but their success depends
On zealous preparation. Ye must to work.
_A brigand._ We have another song yet, captain.
_Pal._ See ye the sun is on this side of the city.
_Brigands._ The song, the song! 1290
_Pal._ What is this song ye call for?
_A brigand._ May’t please your honour,
If Squarcia sing we’ll be content.
_Sq._ I know
What they would have.
_Pal._ Sing then: and cut it short.
_Sq._ Nay, that lies with the chorus. Who hath the lute?
_SONG._
_If you’d hear me sing,
Why give me a skin of wine.
Creatures have their several ways,
Edod! and I have mine,_
CHOR. _And I have mine._ (_ad lib._)
_Edod! and I have mine._ 1300
_If you’d see me fight,
Why let me taste good cheer.
Was not I as good as my word?
Edod! am I not here?_