Till God in pity call for him or me. For you may, like your sister, find some husband, And smile, years hence, with children round your knees; Shall be remembered only as a dream. Beatrice. Talk not to me, dear lady, of a husband. Indeed, Bernardo. And I am of my sister's mind. Cenci. Come hither. Enter CENCI, suddenly. What! Beatrice here? [She shrinks back, and covers her face. Nay, hide not your face, 'tis fair; Look up! Why, yesternight you dared to look With disobedient insolence upon me, Bending a stern and an enquiring brow On what I meant; whilst I then sought to hide That which I came to tell you-but in vain. Beatrice (wildly staggering towards the door). Oh that the earth would gape! Hide me, O God! Cenci. Then it was I whose inarticulate words And brow superior, and unaltered cheek, Shalt thou strike dumb the meanest of mankind : Me least of all. Now get thee to thy chamber. Thou too, [To BERNARDO] loathed image of thy cursed mother: Thy milky meek face makes me sick with hate! [Exeunt BEATRICE and BERNARDO. (Aside.) So much has passed between us as must make Me bold, her fearful. 'Tis an awful thing To touch such mischief as I now conceive: So men sit shivering on the dewy bank, And try the chill stream with their feet; once in-- Lucretia (advancing timidly towards him). O husband! Pray forgive poor Beatrice, She meant not any ill. Cenci. Nor you perhaps? Nor that young imp whom you have taught by rote Parricide with his alphabet? Nor Giacomo? Nor those two most unnatural sons who stirred And he had sentenced me, and there were none Of his decree enregistered in heaven. Oh no! You said not this? Lucretia. So help me God, I never thought the things you charge me with! You judged that men were bolder than they are ; Few dare to stand between their grave and me! Lucretia. Look not so dreadfully! By my salvation, I knew not aught that Beatrice designed; Nor do I think she designed anything Until she heard you talk of her dead brothers. Cenci. Blaspheming liar! You are damned for this! But I will take you where you may persuade The stones you tread on to deliver you : For men shall there be none but those who dare You know That savage rock, the Castle of Petrella. 'Tis safely walled, and moated round about : Its dungeons underground and its thick towers Never told tales; though they have heard and seen What might make dumb things speak. Why do you linger? Make speediest preparation for the journey. [Exit LUCRETIA, The all-beholding sun yet shines; I hear A busy stir of men about the streets; I see the bright sky through the window-panes. It is a garish, broad, and peering day; Come, darkness! Yet what is the day to me? She shall not dare to look upon its beams, Nor feel its warmth. Let her, then, wish for night. For me: I bear a darker deadlier gloom Towards my purpose. - Would that it were done! SCENE II.-A Chamber in the Vatican. Giacomo. Nothing more? Alas! Bare must be the provision which strict law Why did my father not apprentice me To some mechanic trade? I should have then Is heir to all his incapacities; He has wide wants, and narrow powers. Cardinal Camillo, were reduced at once If you, From thrice-driven beds of down, and delicate food, An hundred servants and six palaces, To that which nature doth indeed require? [Exit. Camillo. Nay, there is reason in your plea; 'twere hard. Giacomo. 'Tis hard for a firm man to bear. Have a dear wife, a lady of high birth, And stretch authority beyond the law? But I Camillo. Though your peculiar case is hard, I know The Pope will not divert the course of law. After that impious feast the other night |