LITMIR.BIZ

      You must go hence, and may love go with you.

      You are unknightly, and ungenerous.

      Unknightly and ungenerous if you will.

      Why should we waste more words about the matter

      Let us part now.

      Have you no message, Guido?

      None; my whole past was but a schoolboy’s dream;

      To-day my life begins.  Farewell.

      Farewell [exit slowly.]

      Now are you satisfied?  Have you not seen

      My dearest friend, and my most loved companion,

      Thrust from me like a common kitchen knave!

      Oh, that I did it!  Are you not satisfied?

      Ay! I am satisfied.  Now I go hence,

      Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger,

      And do the business when I send it to you.

      Be sure I shall.  [Exit Lord Moranzone.]

      O thou eternal heaven!

      If there is aught of nature in my soul,

      Of gentle pity, or fond kindliness,

      Wither it up, blast it, bring it to nothing,

      Or if thou wilt not, then will I myself

      Cut pity with a sharp knife from my heart

      And strangle mercy in her sleep at night

      Lest she speak to me.  Vengeance there I have it.

      Be thou my comrade and my bedfellow,

      Sit by my side, ride to the chase with me,

      When I am weary sing me pretty songs,

      When I am light o’ heart, make jest with me,

      And when I dream, whisper into my ear

      The dreadful secret of a father’s murder —

      Did I say murder?  [Draws his dagger.]

      Listen, thou terrible God!

      Thou God that punishest all broken oaths,

      And bid some angel write this oath in fire,

      That from this hour, till my dear father’s murder

      In blood I have revenged, I do forswear

      The noble ties of honourable friendship,

      The noble joys of dear companionship,

      Affection’s bonds, and loyal gratitude,

      Ay, more, from this same hour I do forswear

      All love of women, and the barren thing

      Which men call beauty —

      Oh! who is that?

      The Duchess of Padua!

      No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her!

      Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good.

      Your Grace, there are two thousand people there

      Who every moment grow more clamorous.

      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.

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

      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.

      I beseech your Grace

      To listen to their grievances.

      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.

      What is that?

      The Duchess has gone forth into the square,

      And stands between the people and the guard,

      And will not let them shoot.

      The devil take her!

      And followed by a dozen of the citizens

      Has come into the Palace.

      By Saint James,

      Our Duchess waxes bold!

      Here comes the Duchess.

      Shut that door there; this morning air is cold.