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That crimes like yours if once or twice And reconcile thyself with thine own compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from And with thy God, and with the offended hell
An erring soul which might repent and How hideously look deeds of lust and live:blood
Thro' those snow white and venerable
But that the glory and the interest
Your children should be sitting round
But that you fear to read upon their looks
Cenci. The third of my possessions The shame and misery you have written
-let it go! there. Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Where is your wife? Where is your Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Methinks her sweet looks, which make
Why is she barred from all society
I little thought he should outwit me so! Henceforth no witness-not the lamp shall see
That which the vassal threatened to divulge
Talk with me, Count,-you know I mean you well.
Whose throat is choked with dust for I stood beside your dark and fiery youth his reward. Watching its bold and bad career, as
The deed he saw could not have rated
Than his most worthless life:-it angers
Respite their souls from Heaven.
Watch meteors, but it vanished not-
Do I behold you in dishonoured age
Yet I have ever hoped you would amend, And in that hope have saved your life three times.
Cenci. For which Aldobrandino owes you now
Strength, wealth, and pride, and lust, and length of days My fief beyond the Pincian-Cardinal, Wherein to act the deeds which are the One thing, pray you, recollect hence
stewards forth, Of their revenue. But much yet re- And so we shall converse with less remains straint.
To which they show no title.
A man you knew spoke of my wife and daughter-
Oh, Count Cenci! So much that thou mightst honourably He was accustomed to frequent my
Cenci. Why, miserable?— No. I am what your theologians call And asked if I had seen him; and I Hardened; - which they must be in smiled:
I think they never saw him any more.
So to revile a man's peculiar taste.
So the next day his wife and daughter
Manhood remained to act the thing I
While lust was sweeter than revenge;
Seeing I please my senses as I list,
And vindicate that right with force or And but that there yet remains a deed guile,
It is a public matter, and I care not
Whose horror might make sharp an
Duller than mine--I'd do I know not what.
For you give out that you have half re- | When I was young I thought of nothing formed me, Therefore strong vanity will keep you But pleasure; and I fed on honey sweets: silent Men, by St. Thomas! cannot live like bees,
If fear should not; both will, I do not doubt.
And I grew tired:-yet, till I killed a
All men delight in sensual luxury,
But I delight in nothing else. I love
When this shall be another's, and that
And I have no remorse and little fear,
This mood has grown upon me, until
Tears bitterer than the bloody sweat of
Any design my captious fancy makes
I rarely kill the body, which preserves,
But such as men like you would start Wherein I feed it with the breath of to know, fear
Is as my natural food and rest debarred For hourly pain.
Until it be accomplished.
Art thou not
As to my character for what men call crime
Knew I not what delight was else on earth,
Which now delights me little. I the rather
Look on such pangs as terror ill conceals,
The dry fixed eyeball; the pale quivering lip,
Which tell me that the spirit weeps within
Camillo. doned fiend Did never, in the drunkenness of guilt,
Hell's most aban
Speak to his heart as now you speak to
I thank my God that I believe you not.
Would speak with you.
Cenci. Bid him attend me in the grand saloon. [Exit ANDREA. Camillo. Farewell; and I will pray Almighty God that thy false, impious words
My Lord, a gentleman from This evening:-no, at midnight and
Fourfold provision for my cursed sons; Whom I had sent from Rome to Salamanca,
Hoping some accident might cut them off;
And meaning if I could to starve them there.
I pray thee, God, send some quick
Bernardo and my wife could not be worse
Tempt not his spirit to abandon thee.
I must use
Close husbandry, or gold, the old man's Even from this cypress;-two long years are past
Falls from my withered hand. But Since, on an April midnight, underneath
(Looking around him suspiciously.) I think they cannot hear me at that door;
What if they should? And yet I need not speak
Though the heart triumphs with itself in words.
O, thou most silent air, that shalt not
What now I think!
Of my imperious step scorning surprise,
SCENE II.-A GARDEN OF THE CENCI PALACE. Enter BEATRICE and ORSINO, as in conversation.
Beatrice. As I have said, speak to
Had you a dispensation I have not;
To whom I owe life, and these virtuous
Alas, Orsino! All the love that once
Broke, by assuming vows no Pope will loose.
And thus I love you still, but holily,
I may obtain The dispensation of the Pope to marry. Because I am a Priest do you believe Your image, as the hunter some struck deer,
Follows me not whether I wake or sleep?
Where shall I turn? Even now you look on me
As you were not my friend, and as if
Great God! that such a father should be
But there is mighty preparation made,
Attire ourselves in festival array.
In his dark spirit from this act; I none.
Orsino. Farewell. (Exit BEATRICE.)
Ah no! forgive me; sorrow makes me Will ne'er absolve me from my priestly
Sterner than else my nature might have But by absolving me from the revenue
I have a weight of melancholy thoughts,
Worse than I now endure?
All will be well. Is the petition yet prepared? You know My zeal for all you wish, sweet Beatrice; Doubt not but I will use my utmost skill
Of his sixth cousin, as he did her sister,
In all this there is much exaggeration: So that the Pope attend to your com- Old men are testy and will have their
Beatrice. Your zeal for all I wish ;- A man may stab his enemy, or his vassal, Ah me, you are cold! And live a free life as to wine or women, Your utmost skill . . . speak but one And with a peevish temper may return word (aside) Alas! To a dull home, and rate his wife and Weak and deserted creature that I am, children; Here I stand bickering with my only Daughters and wives call this foul friend! [To ORSINO. tyranny. This night my father gives a sumptuous I shall be well content if on my confeast, science
Orsino; he has heard some happy news
There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer
From the devices of my love-A net And with this outward show of love he From which she shall escape not. Yet mocks His inward hate. 'Tis bold hypocrisy, For he would gladlier celebrate their deaths,
Which I have heard him pray for on his
And lay me bare, and make me blush
Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so,
Cenci. It is indeed a most desired event.
If, when a parent from a parent's heart Lifts from this earth to the great father of all
you seem too light of heart, Too sprightly and companionable a man, To act the deeds that rumour pins on you.
Some most desired
A prayer, both when he lays him down
One supplication, one desire, one hope,
By ways inscrutable, the thing I sought.
(To his companion.) I never saw such You hear me not, I tell you they are
Even all that he demands in their
And suddenly beyond his dearest hope,
And task their love to grace his merri-
Then honour me thus far-for I am he.
He speaks too frankly.
Ah! My blood
I fear that wicked laughter round his eye, Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair.
Cenci. Here are the letters brought
I thank thee! In one night didst thou
And they will need no food or raiment
The tapers that did light them the dark
Are their last cost.
The Pope, I think,