slave, divine Princess,
If nothing harder he may have to guess;
This ancient tree which ever buds anew,
Which sun and shade, man's age and deeds doth shew,
It is "a year," revolving day and night.

PANT. (_joyfully_.)

Shake hands, Tartaglia, I'm quite sure he's right!

TART.

A-a-as-ass-tounding! _Sono contentissimo!_

DOCTORS (_having opened the papers_).

_Eureka! Optime! Optissimo!_

(_Flourish of gongs and cymbals_.)

ALT. (_graciously_.)

Fo-hi protects thee, son; He'll save thy life.

ADELMA (_aside_.)

Ye gods, let not my rival be his wife,
Though I rejoice her vanity is vext.

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 compasses high heav'n's blue vault of endless space.
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 imp