And where could chains so golden and so soft,
Clasped by a hand so fair, enfold a captive
In sweeter bondage? Trust me—you know not
The worth of smiles like hers, to deem them fit
For every eye to share!
Say, gentle lady—would you join the dance?
The dance? No—no!—My lord—I pray your pardon,
I meant not this abruptness.
As you will!
You are a queen here, and in queenly right
You shall control us all; your regal pleasure
The law that we obey.
She does not smile!
Her falsehood bears with it the sting, remorse!
Would music please my noble bride?
These lights!
My brain grows sick beneath their weary glare!
Leave me, I pray you! Nay—nay—heed me not!
Let me not mar your mirth!
I will not leave you:
I am too proud to stand beside you.
Foscarini (in a low tone.)
Aye!
She may betray you too!
That voice—that voice!
I cannot ’scape it! Strange—my haunting fancies
Should thus take form, to syllable reproaches
I ever hear within!
‘They must be silenced—for I may not hear
‘Their tauntings now!’
Teresa! you are pale
And discomposed:—this night’s fatigue hath been
O’er harassing.
You are mistaken;
I am not ill!
Foscarini (snatches another cup and advances.)
Hold!
I claim a right to pledge your lovely bride!
I—humblest of her slaves! Lady! I drink
Long life to you—and happiness—such as
Your truth deserves! Could man e’er wish you more?
’Tis he. Oh God! (faints.) [Foscarini retires.
She has swooned! my daughter! Help!