To hold the stirrup!
I must decline: I cannot stoop so far.
I must decline: I cannot stoop so far.
ALEXANDER.
Prince of Squillace, you will hold the stirrup,
And in your company take Don Alfonso.
And in your company take Don Alfonso.
ALFONSO.
My wife forbids me leave her.
LUCREZIA.
Nay, Lucrezia
Has never said forbid. I yield my husband
For just this hour, knowing that all his hours,
And mine—even Cesare’s—are but one glass
Has never said forbid. I yield my husband
For just this hour, knowing that all his hours,
And mine—even Cesare’s—are but one glass
[Kissing the Pope’s hand.
This hand may run the sands of at its pleasure.
Go, and be mannerly.
Go, and be mannerly.
SANCIA.
It seems
This bridegroom travels homeward with no bride.
Is he ashamed that, jewelled to the eyes,
He could not win my cousin’s hand—Carlotta’s?
This bridegroom travels homeward with no bride.
Is he ashamed that, jewelled to the eyes,
He could not win my cousin’s hand—Carlotta’s?
[The Pope takes Sancia’s fan from a table and tears it.
ALEXANDER.
His bride is Italy.
SANCIA.
I thought she was of France.
ALEXANDER.
He is of France. The fleur-de-luce is broidered
On his banners with our Bull. César de France,
Of Italy—the world. You may retire
From our presence: later we will give you rooms
Convenient in Sant’ Angelo. [Exit Sancia.
Fair ladies, Adriana,
I warn you that this Charlotte of Navarre
Is of no further interest than a city
Captured and left behind. The confidences....
On his banners with our Bull. César de France,
Of Italy—the world. You may retire
From our presence: later we will give you rooms
Convenient in Sant’ Angelo. [Exit Sancia.
Fair ladies, Adriana,
I warn you that this Charlotte of Navarre
Is of no further interest than a city
Captured and left behind. The confidences....
[Pinching Lucrezia’s chin.
What have you heard, Discretion? Not the story....
Enough!
We no more lose our Cesar for a wife,
Treasure, then we have lost you in a groom.
Enough!
We no more lose our Cesar for a wife,
Treasure, then we have lost you in a groom.
[Turning to the Cardinals.
Francesco, there is flutter in your robe,
You crane your neck. What of the cavalcade?
You crane your neck. What of the cavalcade?
CARDINAL BORGIA.
We cannot see it yet.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
We can but see the flags
Beating the sky about Sant’ Angelo.
Beating the sky about Sant’ Angelo.
CARDINAL MICHELE.
[The Pope sinks down exhausted in his chair and closes his eyes.
ALEXANDER.
Triumphs—St. Peter!...
In a bossy car,
Its base the wide spine of an elephant,
Rode Alexander into Babylon,
Invincible, my namesake and a god.
But not for me the riding, not the shouts,
Though mine the empire: it is Cesar, Cesar,
Who comes to Rome, and this is Cesar’s triumph.
The chariots and the laurels and the helmets,
The antique cuirasses and helmets—laurels
Fresh from my gardens: we will act it all
Before the eye to-morrow, and translate
This modern triumph into classic glory,
As epitaphs go down in sounding Latin
To generations after. Cesar’s Triumph!
Burcardus shall arrange the pomp, the order,
The circuit of the pageant. Alexander ... Cesar ...
Cesar....
In a bossy car,
Its base the wide spine of an elephant,
Rode Alexander into Babylon,
Invincible, my namesake and a god.
But not for me the riding, not the shouts,
Though mine the empire: it is Cesar, Cesar,
Who comes to Rome, and this is Cesar’s triumph.
The chariots and the laurels and the helmets,
The antique cuirasses and helmets—laurels
Fresh from my gardens: we will act it all
Before the eye to-morrow, and translate
This modern triumph into classic glory,
As epitaphs go down in sounding Latin
To generations after. Cesar’s Triumph!
Burcardus shall arrange the pomp, the order,
The circuit of the pageant. Alexander ... Cesar ...
Cesar....
[The cannon boom, all rush to the Loggia.
LUCREZIA.
[Running to her father as if for protection.
O Holiness, but he is coming now!
Oh!
Oh!
ALEXANDER.
Out to the Loggia! Cease your clinging, child!
You check my haste, you flutter,
And check me.
You check my haste, you flutter,
And check me.
[There is tumult of cannon, shouting and trumpet-blasts.
[In the Loggia.] O my lords, where is he, where?
[Looking down.] My God, what splendour! But ...
[Looking down.] My God, what splendour! But ...
LUCREZIA.
ALEXANDER.
A presence, oh, a presence! Recollect,
Daughter, we must receive him as the Pope
Receives his Captain-General. He is riding
As in a picture.... Help, Lord Cardinals, help me!
Is the Triregno set about my head
With nicety? This jewel flames aside,
That should be central. Shift my cope. There, there!
We will go in and take the throne.
Daughter, we must receive him as the Pope
Receives his Captain-General. He is riding
As in a picture.... Help, Lord Cardinals, help me!
Is the Triregno set about my head
With nicety? This jewel flames aside,
That should be central. Shift my cope. There, there!
We will go in and take the throne.
LUCREZIA.
[Throwing a kiss down.] He has alighted, father.
[The Pope, seated, waits, his Court round him.
ALEXANDER.
How this remoteness enervates! Come, come, come, come!
[The door is thrown open, Duke Cesare de Valentinois stands gravely on the threshold and makes a deep reverence. He is presented by Monsignore Burchard and followed by Prince Don Joffré and Prince Don Alfonso, the Generals of his staff, and the accompanying Cardinals and Ambassadors.
CESARE.
[With another deep reverence]. Your Holiness,
How can I thank you for the benefits
That even in absence weighed me with the blessing.
Of your great recollection.
How can I thank you for the benefits
That even in absence weighed me with the blessing.
Of your great recollection.
ALEXANDER.
No, my son, the Church
Would give you thanks upon my lips for service
Of princely measure—service....
Would give you thanks upon my lips for service
Of princely measure—service....
[As Cesare bends to kiss the Pope’s foot, Alexander, with a passionate gesture, catches him in his arms.
Cesare!
My son! Superb this beauty! Home at last,
Son of my bowels!
My son! Superb this beauty! Home at last,
Son of my bowels!
CESARE.
ALEXANDER.
[Close to his ear.] No, no, no, my son
By nature, my dear flesh, my very substance
Gone out to victory! Rise! Rise! We must not
Beggar all welcomes other than our own.
Donna Lucrezia—see!... Children!
By nature, my dear flesh, my very substance
Gone out to victory! Rise! Rise! We must not
Beggar all welcomes other than our own.
Donna Lucrezia—see!... Children!
[Prince Alfonso has come to her and holds her by the hand.
CESARE.
A loving couple!
Though one of them fled off awhile ago.
[To Alfonso.] Lured back?
Lucrezia, do you welcome me?
Then welcome me with hands and lips.
Though one of them fled off awhile ago.
[To Alfonso.] Lured back?
Lucrezia, do you welcome me?
Then welcome me with hands and lips.
[She drops Alfonso’s hand and goes quickly up to Cesare.
ACT III
SCENE I
The Vatican—Sala dei Pontifici.
The Lord Alexander VI. and Monsignore Gaspare Poto.
ALEXANDER.
How high the storm is rumbling! Crack! What fell?
Look through the window.
Look through the window.
POTO.
’Tis an old ilex-bough,
That sails along like a black, ruffled swan
A space above the ground.
That sails along like a black, ruffled swan
A space above the ground.
ALEXANDER.
Draw in, draw in, draw in,
My light of service, Gaspare—the wind
Would, if it could, extinguish you.
Go yonder!
Set further in upon the table there
That vase ... enamel with the whirl-blast round it,
And the enamel matchless! Did you tell me
My lord Antoniotto Pallavicini
Waits for an audience? Of a truth, the tempest
Drove not His peace from Christ within the ship.
Well—introduce the Cardinal St. Praxede. [Exit Poto.
Vespers will sound directly; but the bell
Of the old, dying day will shape a tinkle
In this mad, hammering gale, and no one hear.
My light of service, Gaspare—the wind
Would, if it could, extinguish you.
Go yonder!
Set further in upon the table there
That vase ... enamel with the whirl-blast round it,
And the enamel matchless! Did you tell me
My lord Antoniotto Pallavicini
Waits for an audience? Of a truth, the tempest
Drove not His peace from Christ within the ship.
Well—introduce the Cardinal St. Praxede. [Exit Poto.
Vespers will sound directly; but the bell
Of the old, dying day will shape a tinkle
In this mad, hammering gale, and no one hear.
[Re-enter Monsignore Gaspare Poto with the Lord
Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini.]
Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini.]
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Holiness,
What wind!
What wind!
ALEXANDER.
Santi, it wrenches everything it handles—
No touching, but possession. Lord Antoniotto,
You come to seek the dispensation. Poto
Will tell you when I reached my bed last night;
Yet with all industry your business lingered
Still far beyond my goal. I crave your patience.
So many festivals this jubilee,
Processions, triumphs! O my Lord Cardinal,
Think—and the great rejoicing yesterday
When our young Duke received from Holy Church
The Order of the Mystic Rose that blossoms
Upon the banks of the abundant rivers—
Crown of the Church triumphant, militant.
My lord, the pity you were held at sea,
Delayed at Ostia too! Our Duke knelt down;
He took the emblem, kissed the hand, and kissed
The foot of Christ’s vicegerent; then together
We stood erect, and he advanced; for once
He went before me—that was joy!—before me,
The Rose in his right hand, the hovering Dove
On his beretta, with its fretted rays,
A nimbus round him from the monster pearls,
And he before me like a star of heaven!
You have heard the Sacred College makes him Vicar,
Duke of Romagna, Count of Imola,
Forli? There were some seventeen Cardinals
Signed, when I signed the Bull.
No touching, but possession. Lord Antoniotto,
You come to seek the dispensation. Poto
Will tell you when I reached my bed last night;
Yet with all industry your business lingered
Still far beyond my goal. I crave your patience.
So many festivals this jubilee,
Processions, triumphs! O my Lord Cardinal,
Think—and the great rejoicing yesterday
When our young Duke received from Holy Church
The Order of the Mystic Rose that blossoms
Upon the banks of the abundant rivers—
Crown of the Church triumphant, militant.
My lord, the pity you were held at sea,
Delayed at Ostia too! Our Duke knelt down;
He took the emblem, kissed the hand, and kissed
The foot of Christ’s vicegerent; then together
We stood erect, and he advanced; for once
He went before me—that was joy!—before me,
The Rose in his right hand, the hovering Dove
On his beretta, with its fretted rays,
A nimbus round him from the monster pearls,
And he before me like a star of heaven!
You have heard the Sacred College makes him Vicar,
Duke of Romagna, Count of Imola,
Forli? There were some seventeen Cardinals
Signed, when I signed the Bull.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
And I away from Rome!
ALEXANDER.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
I will aid him.
Your Holiness is prudent.
[At the window.] What a shock
And surge among the roofs.
Your Holiness is prudent.
[At the window.] What a shock
And surge among the roofs.
[With a crash the ceiling falls in over the Pope.
O God!
What is it? What has happened?
Is he dead?
What is it? What has happened?
Is he dead?
POTO.
Oh, oh, oh! The Pope is dead.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
The Pope
Is dead, is dead.
Is dead, is dead.
[They rush out to the Guard—a cry down the galleries “The Pope is dead!”
POTO.
[Re-entering.] What horror!
His Blessèdness, where is he? Jammed behind
Those ribs of vaulting—but the throne still stands,
Veiled by a dais-curtain.
His Blessèdness, where is he? Jammed behind
Those ribs of vaulting—but the throne still stands,
Veiled by a dais-curtain.
Re-enter the Lord Cardinal Antoniotto Pallavicini and the Papal Guard. The vesper bell begins to ring.
O my lord, look there!
[They discover the Pope.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Ah, God on earth, he keeps his throne! Not dead;
See, see, he moves the ruin from his hands.
See, see, he moves the ruin from his hands.
POTO.
His brow bleeds.... [to Guard.] Gently, the great daïs-nails
Will harrow up his arm.
Will harrow up his arm.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
But he is still as death!
Now pass him through the crevice the dropped vaultings
A-tilt have made.
Now pass him through the crevice the dropped vaultings
A-tilt have made.
ALEXANDER.
Yes ... to my room,
[He is helped into the next chamber.
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Thank God!
Enter Duke Cesare de Valentinois Della Romagna.
CESARE.
My father ...
The Lord Lorenzo Chigi is stone-dead
Above.... My father!
The Lord Lorenzo Chigi is stone-dead
Above.... My father!
CARDINAL PALLAVICINI.
Excellency, safe;
But hurt, but bleeding.
But hurt, but bleeding.
CESARE.
Publish wide the news;
Shout his escape! Send doctors, send the best—
The Bishop of Venosa.
Shout his escape! Send doctors, send the best—
The Bishop of Venosa.
[Exit into the Pope’s chamber.
[Cardinal Pallavicini goes out, as Cardinals and Physicians pass in.
After a while Donna Lucrezia Borgia d’Aragon enters and stands waiting till some one passes out of the bed-chamber.
CARDINAL SEGOVIA.
[Passing out.] Your Excellency, the Pope’s Holiness
Has at the very edge of death been spared.
Has at the very edge of death been spared.
LUCREZIA.
I am so thankful! [Physicians come out.
BISHOP OF VENOSA.
Nothing of danger! He is torn, he is shaken.
He asked for you.
He asked for you.
LUCREZIA.
BISHOP OF VENOSA.
No, no, Madonna,
He is asleep, and even your steps would rouse him!
He will demand you later as his nurse,
His cook, his smiling comfort. God be thanked!
He is asleep, and even your steps would rouse him!
He will demand you later as his nurse,
His cook, his smiling comfort. God be thanked!
[They pass out.
LUCREZIA.
I am so thankful ...
That chasm—the marbles in their deadly blocks,
I feel them as their falling were on me.
Cesare! [He comes out of the chamber.
That chasm—the marbles in their deadly blocks,
I feel them as their falling were on me.
Cesare! [He comes out of the chamber.
CESARE.
Pearl, how white!
LUCREZIA.
But you are whiter far. You are not hurt?
Cesare, are you reeling? Take my hand.
Cesare, are you reeling? Take my hand.
CESARE.
Nothing—a chasm.... As from the pit of hell,
When I look up through this destruction, up!
I will not look. It is all over now;
That snatch of Chaos is an empty mouth.
The tower fell—four were killed above this room;
No matter there, nor who.... But have you thought,
Lucrezia, how brief our dazzled hours?
This tower a’crumble, had it buried him,
Instead of bruising! Diva, we are gods,
But all Olympus perishes with Jove,
And Jove we know must perish. Come away!
I will conduct you.
When I look up through this destruction, up!
I will not look. It is all over now;
That snatch of Chaos is an empty mouth.
The tower fell—four were killed above this room;
No matter there, nor who.... But have you thought,
Lucrezia, how brief our dazzled hours?
This tower a’crumble, had it buried him,
Instead of bruising! Diva, we are gods,
But all Olympus perishes with Jove,
And Jove we know must perish. Come away!
I will conduct you.
LUCREZIA.
No, no, Cesare.
There will be need to swiftly publish forth
A Brief to calm the people from their fear.
There will be need to swiftly publish forth
A Brief to calm the people from their fear.
CESARE.
LUCREZIA.
Take some wine—
The light, white wine.... To-morrow we shall laugh
At this big rent.
The light, white wine.... To-morrow we shall laugh
At this big rent.
CESARE.
Avernus, we shall laugh!
[They go out, the wind blowing on them from the gap.
SCENE II
The Vatican—a Loggia. Don Alfonso and Donna Lucrezia Borgia d’Aragon are seated together. There are peaches on a golden dish by them, a golden wine-jug and goblet. Two quails and a peacock sun themselves on the ground. A monkey plays with the ribbons of the Duchess’s dress; she wears white, with a green and gold veil twisted in her long hair.
LUCREZIA.
Why do you sigh?
ALFONSO.
You are so full of bliss—
You contemplate me as I were a jewel.
You contemplate me as I were a jewel.
LUCREZIA.
You are, and mine.
ALFONSO.
Why, you have many jewels.
LUCREZIA.
The gift of others: but this jewelled thing
Is you. Alfonso!—and the painters say
You are the loveliest boy in Italy.
You sigh again—why do you sigh? You shall not.
Is you. Alfonso!—and the painters say
You are the loveliest boy in Italy.
You sigh again—why do you sigh? You shall not.
[She caresses him and offers him half of a peach.
ALFONSO.
Ay, half—
Half of a pleasure! I would have you all,
And always. If I am to stay in Rome
Is it to shun your brother up and down
The streets of Rome, so to escape temptation?
Even yesterday ... Lucrece, he concentrates
Such fury in me as I look on him
I shiver, and for hours, after long hours
I find myself still trembling.
Half of a pleasure! I would have you all,
And always. If I am to stay in Rome
Is it to shun your brother up and down
The streets of Rome, so to escape temptation?
Even yesterday ... Lucrece, he concentrates
Such fury in me as I look on him
I shiver, and for hours, after long hours
I find myself still trembling.
LUCREZIA.
[With deep acquiescence.] Yes....
ALFONSO.
And you can suffer
That I should bear the insult of his carriage;
That is the wound: no flashing from your lips,
When I am injured, and no least regret
When you are summoned from me to confer
With His Holiness apart, or by his side
Parry the orators when they grow angry,
And growl from their chafed monarchs.
If to please you
I stay in Rome....
That I should bear the insult of his carriage;
That is the wound: no flashing from your lips,
When I am injured, and no least regret
When you are summoned from me to confer
With His Holiness apart, or by his side
Parry the orators when they grow angry,
And growl from their chafed monarchs.
If to please you
I stay in Rome....
LUCREZIA.
[Laying her hands firmly over his.] You are too young, impatient,
To bear long audience of the orators.
[Twining her arm in his.] But come—why will you speak of yesterday
Or of to-morrow? It is midsummer:
Lucrezia is your own, Lucrezia
So blissful in your arms that, malcontent,
You sigh.
To bear long audience of the orators.
[Twining her arm in his.] But come—why will you speak of yesterday
Or of to-morrow? It is midsummer:
Lucrezia is your own, Lucrezia
So blissful in your arms that, malcontent,
You sigh.
ALFONSO.
I would you loved me less, I would
You did not hold me here as in your clutches.
Midsummer! I shall never see my own:
I have seen you. Beauty, you have no season,
Nor warmth, I think: you are a cruel goddess,
That loves her mortal, and can let him die,
Her fit of doting ended.
You did not hold me here as in your clutches.
Midsummer! I shall never see my own:
I have seen you. Beauty, you have no season,
Nor warmth, I think: you are a cruel goddess,
That loves her mortal, and can let him die,
Her fit of doting ended.
LUCREZIA.
Will you quarrel?
ALEXANDER.
Where is she?
Lucrezia, Lucrezia! My little nurse!
Lucrezia! [He enters.
Lucrezia, Lucrezia! My little nurse!
Lucrezia! [He enters.
LUCREZIA.
[Rising with Alfonso.] We are here, dear father.
ALEXANDER.
Ha!
Feast of S. John, is this austerity?
Skinning cool peaches in a vestibule?
You should have seen the bull-fight, my fair Spaniard.
Cesare....
But he is Hercules! There, in his doublet,
With his short sword he faced five bulls.
I watched
The issue, not the contest; for ... conceive!—
Five spurting carcases, the animals
So swiftly struck one could not draw one’s breath
Between the passes. But the beasts were slain
Before his presence as in sacrifice!
The bloody smoke rose up as to a god.
Ah, little Spaniard, and you kept the hour
Toying with Naples.
[He gives a chuckling whistle.] An arena, child—
Above a reeking tiger there was silence
When Commodus, the golden-haired, stood up;
But when our Spada smote, and at one blow down tumbled
A huge, protesting head, the multitude
Lifted a crowd of shouts into the sky,
And saw no more; hearing was everywhere.
Then, as the noise grew thinner, he emerged
In beauty ... oh, an athlete! oh, a David!
Feast of S. John, is this austerity?
Skinning cool peaches in a vestibule?
You should have seen the bull-fight, my fair Spaniard.
Cesare....
But he is Hercules! There, in his doublet,
With his short sword he faced five bulls.
I watched
The issue, not the contest; for ... conceive!—
Five spurting carcases, the animals
So swiftly struck one could not draw one’s breath
Between the passes. But the beasts were slain
Before his presence as in sacrifice!
The bloody smoke rose up as to a god.
Ah, little Spaniard, and you kept the hour
Toying with Naples.
[He gives a chuckling whistle.] An arena, child—
Above a reeking tiger there was silence
When Commodus, the golden-haired, stood up;
But when our Spada smote, and at one blow down tumbled
A huge, protesting head, the multitude
Lifted a crowd of shouts into the sky,
And saw no more; hearing was everywhere.
Then, as the noise grew thinner, he emerged
In beauty ... oh, an athlete! oh, a David!
ALFONSO.
You must record this as a miracle.
Does it belong, your Blessèdness,
To Pagan legend or the Church?
Does it belong, your Blessèdness,
To Pagan legend or the Church?
LUCREZIA.
ALEXANDER.
You sparkle!
I pardon you. He scarcely will.
I pardon you. He scarcely will.
[The Pope nods his head and rises to go.
LUCREZIA.
[Detaining him.] A peach!...
It is a little fountain
That grottoes under cloud of this red skin.
There, father, from my hand.
It is a little fountain
That grottoes under cloud of this red skin.
There, father, from my hand.
[The Pope seats himself again.
And this dear Cesare,
You will no more reproach him,
When he grows dull and drowses in the sun:
We let our lions drowse.
You will no more reproach him,
When he grows dull and drowses in the sun:
We let our lions drowse.
ALEXANDER.
[Eating the fruit.] Delicious!
So cordial in its essence it revives,
But sets the senses light enough to slumber.
We let our lions drowse ...
I am drowsing now;
A midsummer sweet napping. Guard my rest,
Bright angels!
Nay, Alfonso, do not budge.
I shall be fast asleep.
So cordial in its essence it revives,
But sets the senses light enough to slumber.
We let our lions drowse ...
I am drowsing now;
A midsummer sweet napping. Guard my rest,
Bright angels!
Nay, Alfonso, do not budge.
I shall be fast asleep.
[The Pope falls asleep; at intervals he snores.
LUCREZIA.
[To Alfonso.] Dear Blessèdness,
How could you flee from him? Look, there is kindness
In every crease of his face; look at his lips
That almost bubble in his sleep with mirth
And comfort that he takes in every pleasure.
He never could make sorrowful, Alfonso.
How could you flee from him? Look, there is kindness
In every crease of his face; look at his lips
That almost bubble in his sleep with mirth
And comfort that he takes in every pleasure.
He never could make sorrowful, Alfonso.
ALFONSO.
I did not flee from him.
LUCREZIA.
But you make sorrow,
Alfonso, with your fears. You are growing restless,
Restless again.
On this midsummer-day
When even the little demons of the wood
Are turned delighted into lovers’ elves,
When all things take enchantment, even sin,
And pardon waits if one should sin too deep
[Pointing to the Pope.] Of Heaven itself, shall we not be content?
Shall we not cease from talking?
Alfonso, with your fears. You are growing restless,
Restless again.
On this midsummer-day
When even the little demons of the wood
Are turned delighted into lovers’ elves,
When all things take enchantment, even sin,
And pardon waits if one should sin too deep
[Pointing to the Pope.] Of Heaven itself, shall we not be content?
Shall we not cease from talking?
ALFONSO.
[Vehemently drawing her to his breast.] While he sleeps.
SCENE III
An apartment next to the Borgia Tower, which is reached by a passage on which the door gives. Don Michelotto Corella stands in the centre, the door being open. Suddenly Duke Cesare de Valentinois della Romagna comes to him in a blaze of passion.
CESARE.
Eigh, Michelotto, shall a vermin kill?
Conceive! Alfonso flicked me with an arrow,
Shot from the chamber where Lucrezia watches.
Conceive! Alfonso flicked me with an arrow,
Shot from the chamber where Lucrezia watches.
MICHELOTTO.
The Duchess did not see?
CESARE.
It makes no matter,
It is of no account.... Swift, Michelotto,
A rope.... Conceive! This little pipe of breath,
This spawn, this Naples sought the overthrow
Of my large destinies ... and his kind Duchess
Simmers the pipkin that he may not die
Of poisoned food! Not even the sharp vendetta
Of the Sanseverini fallen upon him
A month ago has mangled him to death;
He keeps his tower, mending his wounds apace.
But, swish!—an arrow flies to end me.... Ecco!
She is hard by, the silky wife grown fulsome,
Dragged on a husband’s chain. Swift, Michelotto, swift!
It is of no account.... Swift, Michelotto,
A rope.... Conceive! This little pipe of breath,
This spawn, this Naples sought the overthrow
Of my large destinies ... and his kind Duchess
Simmers the pipkin that he may not die
Of poisoned food! Not even the sharp vendetta
Of the Sanseverini fallen upon him
A month ago has mangled him to death;
He keeps his tower, mending his wounds apace.
But, swish!—an arrow flies to end me.... Ecco!
She is hard by, the silky wife grown fulsome,
Dragged on a husband’s chain. Swift, Michelotto, swift!
MICHELOTTO.
The poignard or the little rope? I serve you
Close as my bone to flesh.
Close as my bone to flesh.