The Duchess of Padua

SCENE

_A state room in the Ducal Palace_, _hung with tapestries representing the Masque of Venus_; _a large door in the centre opens into a corridor of red marble_, _through which one can see a view of Padua_; _a large canopy is set_ (_R.C._) _with three thrones_, _one a little lower than the others_; _the ceiling is made of long gilded beams_; _furniture of the period_, _chairs covered with gilt leather_, _and buffets set with gold and silver plate_, _and chests painted with mythological scenes_. _A number of the courtiers is out on the corridor looking from it down into the street below_; _from the street comes the roar of a mob and cries of_ ‘_Death to the Duke_’: _after a little interval enter the Duke very calmly_; _he is leaning on the arm of Guido Ferranti_; _with him enters also the Lord Cardinal_; _the mob still shouting_.

Duke. No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her! Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good.

MAFFIO [_excitedly_]

Your Grace, there are two thousand people there Who every moment grow more clamorous.

Duke. Tut, man, they waste their strength upon their lungs! People who shout so loud, my lords, do nothing; The only men I fear are silent men.

[_A yell from the people_.]

You see, Lord Cardinal, how my people love me.

[_Another yell_.]

Go, Petrucci, And tell the captain of the guard below To clear the square. Do you not hear me, sir? Do what I bid you.

[_Exit_ PETRUCCI.]

Cardinal. I beseech your Grace To listen to their grievances.

DUKE [_sitting on his throne_]

Ay! the peaches Are not so big this year as they were last. I crave your pardon, my lord Cardinal, I thought you spake of peaches.

[_A cheer from the people_.]

What is that?

GUIDO [_rushes to the window_]

The Duchess has gone forth into the square, And stands between the people and the guard, And will not let them shoot.

Duke. The devil take her!

GUIDO [_still at the window_]

And followed by a dozen of the citizens Has come into the Palace.

DUKE [_starting up_]

By Saint James, Our Duchess waxes bold!

BARDI

Here comes the Duchess.

Duke. Shut that door there; this morning air is cold.

[_They close the door on the corridor_.]

[_Enter the Duchess followed by a crowd of meanly dressed Citizens_.]

DUCHESS [_flinging herself upon her knees_]

I do beseech your Grace to give us audience.

Duke. What are these grievances?

Duchess. Alas, my Lord, Such common things as neither you nor I, Nor any of these noble gentlemen, Have ever need at all to think about; They say the bread, the very bread they eat, Is made of sorry chaff.

First Citizen. Ay! so it is, Nothing but chaff.

Duke. And very good food too, I give it to my horses.

DUCHESS [_restraining herself_]

They say the water, Set in the public cisterns for their use, [Has, through the breaking of the aqueduct,] To stagnant pools and muddy puddles turned.

Duke. They should drink wine; water is quite unwholesome.

Second Citizen. Alack, your Grace, the taxes which the customs Take at the city gate are grown so high We cannot buy wine.

Duke. Then you should bless the taxes

Which make you temperate.

Duchess. Think, while we sit In gorgeous pomp and state, gaunt poverty Creeps through their sunless lanes, and with sharp knives Cuts the warm throats of children stealthily And no word said.

Third Citizen. Ay! marry, that is true, My little son died yesternight from hunger; He was but six years old; I am so poor, I cannot bury him.

Duke. If you are poor, Are you not blessed in that? Why, poverty Is one of the Christian virtues,

[_Turns to the_ CARDINAL.]

Is it not? I know, Lord Cardinal, you have great revenues, Rich abbey-lands, and tithes, and large estates For preaching voluntary poverty.

Duchess. Nay but, my lord the Duke, be generous; While we sit here within a noble house [With shaded porticoes against the sun, And walls and roofs to keep the winter out], There are many citizens of Padua Who in vile tenements live so full of holes, That the chill rain, the snow, and the rude blast, Are tenants also with them; others sleep Under the arches of the public bridges All through the autumn nights, till the wet mist Stiffens their limbs, and fevers come, and so—

Duke. And so they go to Abraham’s bosom, Madam. They should thank me for sending them to Heaven, If they are wretched here. [_To the_ CARDINAL.] Is it not said Somewhere in Holy Writ, that every man Should be contented with that state of life God calls him to? Why should I change their state, Or meddle with an all-wise providence, Which has apportioned that some men should starve, And others surfeit? I did not make the world.

First Citizen. He hath a hard heart.

Second Citizen. Nay, be silent, neighbour; I think the Cardinal will speak for us.

Cardinal. True, it is Christian to bear misery, Yet it is Christian also to be kind, And there seem many evils in this town, Which in your wisdom might your Grace reform.

First Citizen. What is that word reform? What does it mean?

Second Citizen. Marry, it means leaving things as they are; I like it not.

Duke. Reform Lord Cardinal, did _you_ say reform? There is a man in Germany called Luther, Who would reform the Holy Catholic Church. Have you not made him heretic, and uttered Anathema, maranatha, against him?

CARDINAL [_rising from his seat_]

He would have led the sheep out of the fold, We do but ask of you to feed the sheep.

Duke. When I have shorn their fleeces I may feed them. As for these rebels— [DUCHESS _entreats him_.]

First Citizen. That is a kind word, He means to give us something.

Second Citizen. Is that so?

Duke. These ragged knaves who come before us here, With mouths chock-full of treason.

Third Citizen. Good my Lord, Fill up our mouths with bread; we’ll hold our tongues.

Duke. Ye shall hold your tongues, whether you starve or not. My lords, this age is so familiar grown, That the low peasant hardly doffs his hat, Unless you beat him; and the raw mechanic Elbows the noble in the public streets.

[_To the Citizens_.]

Still as our gentle Duchess has so prayed us, And to refuse so beautiful a beggar Were to lack both courtesy and love, Touching your grievances, I promise this—

First Citizen. Marry, he will lighten the taxes!

Second Citizen. Or a dole of bread, think you, for each man?

Duke. That, on next Sunday, the Lord Cardinal Shall, after Holy Mass, preach you a sermon Upon the Beauty of Obedience.

[_Citizens murmur_.]

First Citizen. I’ faith, that will not fill our stomachs!

Second Citizen. A sermon is but a sorry sauce, when You have nothing to eat with it.

Duchess. Poor people, You see I have no power with the Duke, But if you go into the court without, My almoner shall from my private purse, Divide a hundred ducats ’mongst you all.

First Citizen. God save the Duchess, say I.

Second Citizen. God save her.

Duchess. And every Monday morn shall bread be set For those who lack it.

[_Citizens applaud and go out_.]

FIRST CITIZEN [_going out_]

Why, God save the Duchess again!

DUKE [_calling him back_]

Come hither, fellow! what is your name?

First Citizen. Dominick, sir.

Duke. A good name! Why were you called Dominick?

FIRST CITIZEN [_scratching his head_]

Marry, because I was born on St. George’s day.

Duke. A good reason! here is a ducat for you! Will you not cry for me God save the Duke?

FIRST CITIZEN [_feebly_]

God save the Duke.

Duke. Nay! louder, fellow, louder.

FIRST CITIZEN [_a little louder_]

God save the Duke!

Duke. More lustily, fellow, put more heart in it! Here is another ducat for you.

FIRST CITIZEN [_enthusiastically_]

God save the Duke!

DUKE [_mockingly_]

Why, gentlemen, this simple fellow’s love Touches me much. [_To the Citizen_, _harshly_.] Go! [_Exit Citizen_, _bowing_.] This is the way, my lords, You can buy popularity nowadays. Oh, we are nothing if not democratic!

[_To the_ DUCHESS.]

Well, Madam, You spread rebellion ’midst our citizens.

Duchess. My Lord, the poor have rights you cannot touch, The right to pity, and the right to mercy.

Duke. So, so, you argue with me? This is she, The gentle Duchess for whose hand I yielded Three of the fairest towns in Italy, Pisa, and Genoa, and Orvieto.

Duchess. Promised, my Lord, not yielded: in that matter Brake you your word as ever.

Duke. You wrong us, Madam, There were state reasons.

Duchess. What state reasons are there For breaking holy promises to a state?

Duke. There are wild boars at Pisa in a forest Close to the city: when I promised Pisa Unto your noble and most trusting father, I had forgotten there was hunting there. At Genoa they say, Indeed I doubt them not, that the red mullet Runs larger in the harbour of that town Than anywhere in Italy.

[_Turning to one of the Court_.]

You, my lord, Whose gluttonous appetite is your only god, Could satisfy our Duchess on that point.

Duchess. And Orvieto?

DUKE [_yawning_]

I cannot now recall Why I did not surrender Orvieto According to the word of my contract. Maybe it was because I did not choose.

[_Goes over to the_ DUCHESS.]

Why look you, Madam, you are here alone; ’Tis many a dusty league to your grey France, And even there your father barely keeps A hundred ragged squires for his Court. What hope have you, I say? Which of these lords And noble gentlemen of Padua Stands by your side.

Duchess. There is not one.

[GUIDO _starts_, _but restrains himself_.]

Duke. Nor shall be, While I am Duke in Padua: listen, Madam, Being mine own, you shall do as I will, And if it be my will you keep the house, Why then, this palace shall your prison be; And if it be my will you walk abroad, Why, you shall take the air from morn to night.

Duchess. Sir, by what right—?

Duke. Madam, my second Duchess Asked the same question once: her monument Lies in the chapel of Bartholomew, Wrought in red marble; very beautiful. Guido, your arm. Come, gentlemen, let us go And spur our falcons for the mid-day chase. Bethink you, Madam, you are here alone.

[_Exit the_ DUKE _leaning on_ GUIDO, _with his Court_.]

DUCHESS [_looking after them_]

The Duke said rightly that I was alone; Deserted, and dishonoured, and defamed, Stood ever woman so alone indeed? Men when they woo us call us pretty children, Tell us we have not wit to make our lives, And so they mar them for us. Did I say woo? We are their chattels, and their common slaves, Less dear than the poor hound that licks their hand, Less fondled than the hawk upon their wrist. Woo, did I say? bought rather, sold and bartered, Our very bodies being merchandise. I know it is the general lot of women, Each miserably mated to some man Wrecks her own life upon his selfishness: That it is general makes it not less bitter. I think I never heard a woman laugh, Laugh for pure merriment, except one woman, That was at night time, in the public streets. Poor soul, she walked with painted lips, and wore The mask of pleasure: I would not laugh like her; No, death were better.

[_Enter_ GUIDO _behind unobserved_; _the_ DUCHESS _flings herself down before a picture of the Madonna_.]

O Mary mother, with your sweet pale face Bending between the little angel heads That hover round you, have you no help for me? Mother of God, have you no help for me?

Guido. I can endure no longer. This is my love, and I will speak to her. Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers?

DUCHESS [_rising_]

None but the wretched needs my prayers, my lord.

Guido. Then must I need them, lady.

Duchess. How is that? Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour?

Guido. Your Grace, I lack no favours from the Duke, Whom my soul loathes as I loathe wickedness, But come to proffer on my bended knees, My loyal service to thee unto death.

Duchess. Alas! I am so fallen in estate I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks.

GUIDO [_seizing her hand_]

Hast thou no love to give me?

[_The_ DUCHESS _starts_, _and_ GUIDO _falls at her feet_.]

O dear saint, If I have been too daring, pardon me! Thy beauty sets my boyish blood aflame, And, when my reverent lips touch thy white hand, Each little nerve with such wild passion thrills That there is nothing which I would not do To gain thy love. [_Leaps up_.] Bid me reach forth and pluck Perilous honour from the lion’s jaws, And I will wrestle with the Nemean beast On the bare desert! Fling to the cave of War A gaud, a ribbon, a dead flower, something That once has touched thee, and I’ll bring it back Though all the hosts of Christendom were there, Inviolate again! ay, more than this, Set me to scale the pallid white-faced cliffs Of mighty England, and from that arrogant shield Will I raze out the lilies of your France Which England, that sea-lion of the sea, Hath taken from her! O dear Beatrice, Drive me not from thy presence! without thee The heavy minutes crawl with feet of lead, But, while I look upon thy loveliness, The hours fly like winged Mercuries And leave existence golden.

Duchess. I did not think I should be ever loved: do you indeed Love me so much as now you say you do?

Guido. Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea, Ask of the roses if they love the rain, Ask of the little lark, that will not sing Till day break, if it loves to see the day:— And yet, these are but empty images, Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire So great that all the waters of the main Can not avail to quench it. Will you not speak?

Duchess. I hardly know what I should say to you.

Guido. Will you not say you love me?

Duchess. Is that my lesson? Must I say all at once? ’Twere a good lesson If I did love you, sir; but, if I do not, What shall I say then?

Guido. If you do not love me, Say, none the less, you do, for on your tongue Falsehood for very shame would turn to truth.

Duchess. What if I do not speak at all? They say Lovers are happiest when they are in doubt

Guido. Nay, doubt would kill me, and if I must die, Why, let me die for joy and not for doubt. Oh, tell me may I stay, or must I go?

Duchess. I would not have you either stay or go; For if you stay you steal my love from me, And if you go you take my love away. Guido, though all the morning stars could sing They could not tell the measure of my love. I love you, Guido.

GUIDO [_stretching out his hands_]

Oh, do not cease at all; I thought the nightingale sang but at night; Or if thou needst must cease, then let my lips Touch the sweet lips that can such music make.

Duchess. To touch my lips is not to touch my heart.

Guido. Do you close that against me?

Duchess. Alas! my lord, I have it not: the first day that I saw you I let you take my heart away from me; Unwilling thief, that without meaning it Did break into my fenced treasury And filch my jewel from it! O strange theft, Which made you richer though you knew it not, And left me poorer, and yet glad of it!

GUIDO [_clasping her in his arms_]

O love, love, love! Nay, sweet, lift up your head, Let me unlock those little scarlet doors That shut in music, let me dive for coral In your red lips, and I’ll bear back a prize Richer than all the gold the Gryphon guards In rude Armenia.

Duchess. You are my lord, And what I have is yours, and what I have not Your fancy lends me, like a prodigal Spending its wealth on what is nothing worth.

[_Kisses him_.]

Guido. Methinks I am bold to look upon you thus: The gentle violet hides beneath its leaf And is afraid to look at the great sun For fear of too much splendour, but my eyes, O daring eyes! are grown so venturous That like fixed stars they stand, gazing at you, And surfeit sense with beauty.

Duchess. Dear love, I would You could look upon me ever, for your eyes Are polished mirrors, and when I peer Into those mirrors I can see myself, And so I know my image lives in you.

GUIDO [_taking her in his arms_]

Stand still, thou hurrying orb in the high heavens, And make this hour immortal! [_A pause_.]

Duchess. Sit down here, A little lower than me: yes, just so, sweet, That I may run my fingers through your hair, And see your face turn upwards like a flower To meet my kiss. Have you not sometimes noted, When we unlock some long-disuséd room With heavy dust and soiling mildew filled, Where never foot of man has come for years, And from the windows take the rusty bar, And fling the broken shutters to the air, And let the bright sun in, how the good sun Turns every grimy particle of dust Into a little thing of dancing gold? Guido, my heart is that long-empty room, But you have let love in, and with its gold Gilded all life. Do you not think that love Fills up the sum of life?

Guido. Ay! without love Life is no better than the unhewn stone Which in the quarry lies, before the sculptor Has set the God within it. Without love Life is as silent as the common reeds That through the marshes or by rivers grow, And have no music in them.

Duchess. Yet out of these The singer, who is Love, will make a pipe And from them he draws music; so I think Love will bring music out of any life. Is that not true?

Guido. Sweet, women make it true. There are men who paint pictures, and carve statues, Paul of Verona and the dyer’s son, Or their great rival, who, by the sea at Venice, Has set God’s little maid upon the stair, White as her own white lily, and as tall, Or Raphael, whose Madonnas are divine Because they are mothers merely; yet I think Women are the best artists of the world, For they can take the common lives of men Soiled with the money-getting of our age, And with love make them beautiful.

Duchess. Ah, dear, I wish that you and I were very poor; The poor, who love each other, are so rich.

Guido. Tell me again you love me, Beatrice.

DUCHESS [_fingering his collar_]

How well this collar lies about your throat.

[LORD MORANZONE _looks through the door from the corridor outside_.]

Guido. Nay, tell me that you love me.

Duchess. I remember, That when I was a child in my dear France, Being at Court at Fontainebleau, the King Wore such a collar.

Guido. Will you not say you love me?

DUCHESS [_smiling_]

He was a very royal man, King Francis, Yet he was not royal as you are. Why need I tell you, Guido, that I love you?

[_Takes his head in her hands and turns his face up to her_.]

Do you not know that I am yours for ever, Body and soul?

[_Kisses him_, _and then suddenly catches sight of_ MORANZONE _and leaps up_.]

Oh, what is that? [MORANZONE _disappears_.]

Guido. What, love?

Duchess. Methought I saw a face with eyes of flame Look at us through the doorway.

Guido. Nay, ’twas nothing: The passing shadow of the man on guard.

[_The_ DUCHESS _still stands looking at the window_.]

’Twas nothing, sweet.

Duchess. Ay! what can harm us now, Who are in Love’s hand? I do not think I’d care Though the vile world should with its lackey Slander Trample and tread upon my life; why should I? They say the common field-flowers of the field Have sweeter scent when they are trodden on Than when they bloom alone, and that some herbs Which have no perfume, on being bruiséd die With all Arabia round them; so it is With the young lives this dull world seeks to crush, It does but bring the sweetness out of them, And makes them lovelier often. And besides, While we have love we have the best of life: Is it not so?

Guido. Dear, shall we play or sing? I think that I could sing now.

Duchess. Do not speak, For there are times when all existences Seem narrowed to one single ecstasy, And Passion sets a seal upon the lips.

Guido. Oh, with mine own lips let me break that seal! You love me, Beatrice?

Duchess. Ay! is it not strange I should so love mine enemy?

Guido. Who is he?

Duchess. Why, you: that with your shaft did pierce my heart! Poor heart, that lived its little lonely life Until it met your arrow.

Guido. Ah, dear love, I am so wounded by that bolt myself That with untended wounds I lie a-dying, Unless you cure me, dear Physician.

Duchess. I would not have you cured; for I am sick With the same malady.

Guido. Oh, how I love you! See, I must steal the cuckoo’s voice, and tell The one tale over.

Duchess. Tell no other tale! For, if that is the little cuckoo’s song, The nightingale is hoarse, and the loud lark Has lost its music.

Guido. Kiss me, Beatrice!

[_She takes his face in her hands and bends down and kisses him_; _a loud knocking then comes at the door_, _and_ GUIDO _leaps up_; _enter a Servant_.]

SERVANT

A package for you, sir.

GUIDO [_carelessly_]

Ah! give it to me.

[_Servant hands package wrapped in vermilion silk_, _and exit_; _as_ GUIDO _is about to open it the_ DUCHESS _comes up behind_, _and in sport takes it from him_.]

DUCHESS [_laughing_]

Now I will wager it is from some girl Who would have you wear her favour; I am so jealous I will not give up the least part in you, But like a miser keep you to myself, And spoil you perhaps in keeping.

Guido. It is nothing.

Duchess. Nay, it is from some girl.

Guido. You know ’tis not.

DUCHESS [_turns her back and opens it_]

Now, traitor, tell me what does this sign mean, A dagger with two leopards wrought in steel?

GUIDO [_taking it from her_]

O God!

Duchess. I’ll from the window look, and try If I can’t see the porter’s livery Who left it at the gate! I will not rest Till I have learned your secret.

[_Runs laughing into the corridor_.]

Guido. Oh, horrible! Had I so soon forgot my father’s death, Did I so soon let love into my heart, And must I banish love, and let in murder That beats and clamours at the outer gate? Ay, that I must! Have I not sworn an oath? Yet not to-night; nay, it must be to-night. Farewell then all the joy and light of life, All dear recorded memories, farewell, Farewell all love! Could I with bloody hands Fondle and paddle with her innocent hands? Could I with lips fresh from this butchery Play with her lips? Could I with murderous eyes Look in those violet eyes, whose purity Would strike men blind, and make each eyeball reel In night perpetual? No, murder has set A barrier between us far too high For us to kiss across it.

Duchess. Guido!

Guido. Beatrice, You must forget that name, and banish me Out of your life for ever.

DUCHESS [_going towards him_]

O dear love!

GUIDO [_stepping back_]

There lies a barrier between us two We dare not pass.

Duchess. I dare do anything So that you are beside me.

Guido. Ah! There it is, I cannot be beside you, cannot breathe The air you breathe; I cannot any more Stand face to face with beauty, which unnerves My shaking heart, and makes my desperate hand Fail of its purpose. Let me go hence, I pray; Forget you ever looked upon me.

Duchess. What! With your hot kisses fresh upon my lips Forget the vows of love you made to me?

Guido. I take them back.

Duchess. Alas, you cannot, Guido, For they are part of nature now; the air Is tremulous with their music, and outside The little birds sing sweeter for those vows.

Guido. There lies a barrier between us now, Which then I knew not, or I had forgot.

Duchess. There is no barrier, Guido; why, I will go In poor attire, and will follow you Over the world.

GUIDO [_wildly_]

The world’s not wide enough To hold us two! Farewell, farewell for ever.

DUCHESS [_calm_, _and controlling her passion_]

Why did you come into my life at all, then, Or in the desolate garden of my heart Sow that white flower of love—?

Guido. O Beatrice!

Duchess. Which now you would dig up, uproot, tear out, Though each small fibre doth so hold my heart That if you break one, my heart breaks with it? Why did you come into my life? Why open The secret wells of love I had sealed up? Why did you open them—?

Guido. O God!

DUCHESS [_clenching her hand_]

And let The floodgates of my passion swell and burst Till, like the wave when rivers overflow That sweeps the forest and the farm away, Love in the splendid avalanche of its might Swept my life with it? Must I drop by drop Gather these waters back and seal them up? Alas! Each drop will be a tear, and so Will with its saltness make life very bitter.

Guido. I pray you speak no more, for I must go Forth from your life and love, and make a way On which you cannot follow.

Duchess. I have heard That sailors dying of thirst upon a raft, Poor castaways upon a lonely sea, Dream of green fields and pleasant water-courses, And then wake up with red thirst in their throats, And die more miserably because sleep Has cheated them: so they die cursing sleep For having sent them dreams: I will not curse you Though I am cast away upon the sea Which men call Desolation.

Guido. O God, God!

Duchess. But you will stay: listen, I love you, Guido.

[_She waits a little_.]

Is echo dead, that when I say I love you There is no answer?

Guido. Everything is dead, Save one thing only, which shall die to-night!

Duchess. If you are going, touch me not, but go.

[_Exit_ GUIDO.]

Barrier! Barrier! Why did he say there was a barrier? There is no barrier between us two. He lied to me, and shall I for that reason Loathe what I love, and what I worshipped, hate? I think we women do not love like that. For if I cut his image from my heart, My heart would, like a bleeding pilgrim, follow That image through the world, and call it back With little cries of love.

[_Enter_ DUKE _equipped for the chase_, _with falconers and hounds_.]

Duke. Madam, you keep us waiting; You keep my dogs waiting.

Duchess. I will not ride to-day.

Duke. How now, what’s this?

Duchess. My Lord, I cannot go.

Duke. What, pale face, do you dare to stand against me? Why, I could set you on a sorry jade And lead you through the town, till the low rabble You feed toss up their hats and mock at you.

Duchess. Have you no word of kindness ever for me?

Duke. I hold you in the hollow of my hand And have no need on you to waste kind words.

Duchess. Well, I will go.

DUKE [_slapping his boot with his whip_]

No, I have changed my mind, You will stay here, and like a faithful wife Watch from the window for our coming back. Were it not dreadful if some accident By chance should happen to your loving Lord? Come, gentlemen, my hounds begin to chafe, And I chafe too, having a patient wife. Where is young Guido?

Maffio. My liege, I have not seen him For a full hour past.

Duke. It matters not, I dare say I shall see him soon enough. Well, Madam, you will sit at home and spin. I do protest, sirs, the domestic virtues Are often very beautiful in others.

[_Exit_ DUKE _with his Court_.]

Duchess. The stars have fought against me, that is all, And thus to-night when my Lord lieth asleep, Will I fall upon my dagger, and so cease. My heart is such a stone nothing can reach it Except the dagger’s edge: let it go there, To find what name it carries: ay! to-night Death will divorce the Duke; and yet to-night He may die also, he is very old. Why should he not die? Yesterday his hand Shook with a palsy: men have died from palsy, And why not he? Are there not fevers also, Agues and chills, and other maladies Most incident to old age? No, no, he will not die, he is too sinful; Honest men die before their proper time. Good men will die: men by whose side the Duke In all the sick pollution of his life Seems like a leper: women and children die, But the Duke will not die, he is too sinful. Oh, can it be There is some immortality in sin, Which virtue has not? And does the wicked man Draw life from what to other men were death, Like poisonous plants that on corruption live? No, no, I think God would not suffer that: Yet the Duke will not die: he is too sinful. But I will die alone, and on this night Grim Death shall be my bridegroom, and the tomb My secret house of pleasure: well, what of that? The world’s a graveyard, and we each, like coffins, Within us bear a skeleton.

[_Enter_ LORD MORANZONE _all in black_; _he passes across the back of the stage looking anxiously about_.]

Moranzone. Where is Guido? I cannot find him anywhere.

DUCHESS [_catches sight of him_]

O God! ’Twas thou who took my love away from me.

MORANZONE [_with a look of joy_]

What, has he left you?

Duchess. Nay, you know he has. Oh, give him back to me, give him back, I say, Or I will tear your body limb from limb, And to the common gibbet nail your head Until the carrion crows have stripped it bare. Better you had crossed a hungry lioness Before you came between me and my love.

[_With more pathos_.]

Nay, give him back, you know not how I love him. Here by this chair he knelt a half hour since; ’Twas there he stood, and there he looked at me; This is the hand he kissed, and these the ears Into whose open portals he did pour A tale of love so musical that all The birds stopped singing! Oh, give him back to me.

Moranzone. He does not love you, Madam.

Duchess. May the plague Wither the tongue that says so! Give him back.

Moranzone. Madam, I tell you you will never see him, Neither to-night, nor any other night.

Duchess. What is your name?

Moranzone. My name? Revenge!

[_Exit_.]

Duchess. Revenge! I think I never harmed a little child. What should Revenge do coming to my door? It matters not, for Death is there already, Waiting with his dim torch to light my way. ’Tis true men hate thee, Death, and yet I think Thou wilt be kinder to me than my lover, And so dispatch the messengers at once, Harry the lazy steeds of lingering day, And let the night, thy sister, come instead, And drape the world in mourning; let the owl, Who is thy minister, scream from his tower And wake the toad with hooting, and the bat, That is the slave of dim Persephone, Wheel through the sombre air on wandering wing! Tear up the shrieking mandrakes from the earth And bid them make us music, and tell the mole To dig deep down thy cold and narrow bed, For I shall lie within thine arms to-night.

END OF ACT II.

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