Being, as 'twere, the shadow of his own 1 pray you now excuse me. I have business That will not bear delay. Giac. But you, Orsino, (Exit Have the petition: wherefore not present it? So I should guess from what Camillo said. Giac. My friend, that palace-walking devil, Gold, Has whispered silence to his Holiness, And, being left as scorpions ringed with fire, What should we do but strike ourselves to death? Is shielded by a father's holy name, Or I would (stops abruptly Ors. What? Fear not to speak your thought. Words are but holy as the deeds they cover: A priest who has forsworn the God he serves; A judge who makes truth weep at his decree, A friend who should weave counsel, as I now, But as the mantle of some selfish guile; A father who is all a tyrant seems, Were the profaner for his sacred name. Giac. Ask me not what I think; the unwilling bras Feigns often what it would not; and we trust Imagination with such fantasies As the tongue dares not fashion into words; Which have no words, their horror makes them dim To the mind's eye. My heart denies itself To think what you demand. Ors. But a friend's bosom Is as the inmost cave of our own mind, You look what I suspected. Giac. Spare me, now! I am as one lost in a midnight wood, Ors. Farewell!-Be your thoughts better or more bold. I had disposed the Cardinal Camillo (Exit Giacomo. To feed his hope with cold encouragement: It fortunately serves my close designs That 'tis a trick of this same family To analyse their own and other minds, Such self-anatomy shall teach the will Dangerous secrets; for it tempts our powers, Knowing what must be thought, and may be done, So Cenci fell into the pit; even I, Since Beatrice unveiled me to myself, And made me shrink from what i cannot shun, Now what harm (After a pause) If Cenci should be murdered ?-Yet, if murdered, I fear a man whose blows outspeed his words; Or smiles beyond it! There is no escape: And fills my slumber with tumultuous dreanis, From the dread manner of her wish achieved: And she!-Once more take courage, my faint heart; Some unbeheld divinity doth ever When dread events are near, stir up men's minds But who can flatter the dark spirit, that makes Till it become his slave-as I will do. -00 ACT III. SCENE I. (Exit.) An apartment in the Cenci Palace. LUCRETIA; to her enter BEATRICE. Beatr. (She enters staggering, and speaks wildly.) Reaen me the handkerchief!-My brain is hurt; J My eyes are full of blood; ust wipe them for me- You have no wound; 'tis only a cold dew Beatr. How comes this hair undone ? Its wandering strings must be what blind me The pavement sinks under my feet! The walls The subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life! [a pause. Before; for I am mad beyond all doubt! (More wildly.) [not: Lucr. What ails thee, my poor child?-She answers Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain, But not its cause; suffering has dried away The source from which it sprung. Beatr. (franticly.) Like parricide Misery has killed its father: yet, its father, Never like mine-O God! what thing am I? Lucr. My dearest child what has your father done? Beatr. (doubtfully.) Who art thou, questioner? I have no father. (To Lucretia, in a slow subdued voice) I thought I was that wretched Beatrice Men speak of, whom her father sometimes hales At others, pens up naked in damp cells Where Scaly reptiles crawl, and starves her there, That I imagined-no, it cannot be ! Horrible things have been in this wild world, But never fancy imagined such a deed. As (aside.) (pauses, suddenly recollecting herself. Who art thou? Swear to me, ere I die With fearful expectation, that indeed Thou art not what thou seemest-Mother! My sweet child, know you Beatr. Yet speak it not: For then if this be truth, that other too Must be a truth, a firm enduring truth, Linked with each lasting circumstance of life, I have talked some wild words, but will no more. (her voice dies away faintly; Lucr. Alas! what has befallen thee, child? What has thy father done? Beatr. What have I done? Am I not innocent? Is it my crime That one with white hair, and imperious brow, |