coffins. Expect I should maintain them in their Or found a mine of gold in El dorado; 'Tis but to season some such news; stay, stay! Rejoice with me-my heart is wondrous [LUCRETIA sinks, half-fainting; Beatrice. It is not true!-Dear lady, I see 'tis only raillery by his smile. Cenci (filling a bowl of wine, and lifting it up). Oh, thou bright wine whose purple splendour leaps Had it been true, there is a God in And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl Heaven, He would not live to boast of such a boon. Under the lamp-light, as my spirits do, To hear the death of my accursed sons! Unnatural man, thou knowest that it is Could I believe thou wert their mingled false. blood, Cenci. Ay, as the word of God; Then would I taste thee like a sacrawhom here I call To witness that I speak the sober truth; And whose most favouring Providence Even in the manner of their deaths. Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen When the church fell and crushed him ment, And pledge with thee the mighty Devil in Hell, Who, if a father's curses, as men say, And drag them from the very throne of Now triumphs in my triumph !—But Superfluous; I have drunken deep of And I will taste no other wine to-night. Camillo. Some ill will come of this. Second Guest. Seize, silence him! I will! And I? [The Banquet is broken up; several Ye may soon share such merriment again of the Guests are departing. As fathers make over their children's Beatrice. I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; What, although tyranny and impious hate Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair? What, if 'tis he who clothed us in these limbs Who tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we, The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh, His children and his wife, whom he is bound graves. O Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman, Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain, Camillo, thou art chief justiciary, Cenci. (He has been conversing with CAMILLO during the first part of BEATRICE's speech; he hears the conclusion, and now aivances). I hope my good friends here To love and shelter? Shall we there- Will think of their own daughters-or Have excused much, doubted; and And that the flowers of this departed Remained, have sought by patience, Were fading on my grave! And that To soften him, and when this could not Were celebrating now one feast for all! be I have knelt down through the long sleepless nights And lifted up to God, the father of all, Passionate prayers: and when these were not heard I have still borne,-until I meet you here, Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast Given at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain, His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not, Camillo. A bitter wish for one so Who art a torturer? Father, never dream Though thou mayst overbear this company, But ill must come of ill.-Frown not on me! Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks My brothers' ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat! Cover thy face from every living eye, And start if thou but hear a human step: Seek out some dark and silent corner, there, Bow thy white head before offended God, And we will kneel around, and fervently Pray that he pity both ourselves, and thee. Cenci. My friends, I do lament this insane girl Has spoilt the mirth of our festivity. Spectators of our dull domestic quarrels. [Exeunt all but CENCI and BEATRICE. [To BEATRICE. Thou painted viper! Beast that thou art! terrible! I am not your true mother. O more, more, Fair and yet My father, do you think that I should The door is opening now; I see his Checked his unnatural pride; and I face; could see He frowns on others, but he smiles on The devil was rebuked that lives in him. Until this hour thus have you ever stood me, Even as he did after the feast last Between us and your father's moody As if one thought were over strong for What did your father do or say to you? He stayed not after that accursed feast One moment in your chamber.--Speak What could I say? [Recovering herself. With sports, and delicate food, and the Ah! No, 'tis nothing new fresh air. The sufferings we all share have made O never think that I will leave you, me wild: He only struck and cursed me as he passed; He said, he looked, he did;-nothing at all Beyond his wont, yet it disordered me. Lucretia. Nay, Beatrice; have cour- If any one despairs it should be I Who loved him once, and now must live with him 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; Whilst I, then dead, and all this hideous of a husband. Did you not nurse me when my mother died? [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 inquiring 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). O that the earth would gape! Hide me, O God! Cenci. Then it was I whose inarticulate words Fell from my lips, and who with tottering steps Fled from your presence, as you now from mine. Stay, I command you-from this day and hour Did you not shield me and that dearest Never again, I think, with fearless eye, I would not leave you in this wretched- (Aside.) So much has past between us ness, as must make Even though the Pope should make me Me bold, her fearful.-'Tis an awful ceive: In some blithe place, like others of my To touch such mischief as I now con age, |