[The bell strikes again, and she covers her ears 'Tis no dream!-now I know-yes-yes-I know O God! O God! Yes, yes! I see it all! [She covers her face, and weeps. Sfor. My lords, her reason rallies Little by little. With this flood of tears, Her brain's relieved, and she'll give over raving. My wife! Bianca! If thou ever lovedst me, · Bian. O Sforza! I have given, For thy dear love, the eyes I had to see it, Sfor. Ay-but 'tis thine now, sweet one! The life-drops in my heart are less dear to me. Bian. Too late! You've crushed the light out of a gem You did not know the price of. Had you spoken But one kind word upon my bridal night!— Sfor. Forgive me, my Bianca! Bian. I am parched With thirst now, and my eyes grow faint and dim. Are you here, Sforza ? Mourn not for me long, [Starts from him. But bury me with Giulio! His voice now! Jut over hell? Hark! I hear Do the walls of Paradise [Strikes off SFORZA, who approaches her. Unhand me, devil! You've the shape of one Who upon earth had no heart! Can you take [SFORZA falls back, struck with remorse. Hark! 'tis his low, imploring voice again: He prays for poor The portals stir! Bianca! And look—see you! Slow, slow-and difficult [Creeps forward, with her eyes upward Pray on, my brother! Pray on, Giulio! I come! [Falls on her face.—SFORza drops on his knee, pale and trembling Sfor. My soul shrinks with unnatural fear ! What heard I then? “Sforza, give up thy sword!” [Shrinks as if from some spectre in the air. I will! I will! [Holds out his sword, as if to the Monk; and SARPELLIONE, who has been straining forward to watch BIANCA, springs suddenly to her side. Sar. She's dead! Ha! ha!-who's duke in Milan [SFORZA rises with a bound. now? Sfor. Sforza! [He flies to the window, and waves the handkerchief. The bell peals out, and, as he rushes to BIANCA, she moves, lifts her head, looks wildly around, and struggles to her feet. ROSSANO gives her the crown; she looks an instant smilingly on Sforza, and with a difficult but calm effort places it on his head. All drop on one knee, to do allegiance; and, as SFORZA lifts himself to his loftiest height, with a look of triumph at SARPELLIONE, BIANCA sinks dead at his feet. Curtain falls. TORTESA, a rich Usurer, is about to wed ISABELLA, the Daughter of COUNT FALCONE, who is deeply indebted to TORTESA. The Duchess of Florence is desirous of having the Portrait of ISABELLA painted by ANGELO, a young Artist. ANGELO goes to the Palace of FALCONE to execute the commission intrusted to him. SCENE III.-An Apartment in the FALCONE Palace.-ANGELO discovered listening. Angelo. Did I hear footsteps? [He listens.] Fancy plays me tricks In my impatience for this lovely wonder! That window's to the north! The light falls cool. Enter ISABELLA, reading her Father's missive. Isabella. "The duke would have your picture for the duchess Done by this rude man, Angelo. Receive him With modest privacy, and let your kindness Be measured by his merit, not his garb." Ang. Fair lady! Isa. Who speaks ? Ang. Angelo! Isa. You've come, Sir, To paint a dull face, trust me. Ang. [Aside.] Beautiful, Beyond all dreaming! Isa. I've no smiles to show you, Not even a mock one. Shall I sit? Ang. No, lady; I'll steal your beauty while you move, as well; So you Isa. [Walking apart.] His voice Is not a rude one. What a fate is mine, When even the chance words on a poor youth's tongue, Contrasted with the voice which I should love, Seem rich and musical! Ang. [To himself as he draws.] How like a swan, Drooping his small head to a lily-cup, She curves that neck of pliant ivory! Isa. [Aside.] Forgetful where he is, He thinks aloud. This is, perhaps, the rudeness Ang. What colour Can match the clear red of those glorious lips? Say it were possible to trace the arches, Shaped like the drawn bow of the god of love- Isa. Still, he thinks not of me, But murmurs to his picture. "Twere sweet praise, Were it a lover whispering it. I'll listen, As I walk, still. Ang. They say, a cloudy veil Hangs ever at the crystal gate of heaven, Isa. There's flattery, Would draw down angels! Ang. Now, what alchemy Can mock the rose and lily of her cheek? I must look closer on't! [Advancing.] Fair lady, please you, I'll venture to your side. Isa. Sir! Ang. [Examining her cheek.] There's a mixture If you'll forgive me, I'll observe an instant, Isa. [Receding from him.] You're too free, Sir. Isa. [Aside.] And yet, I think not so. He must look on it, To paint it well. Ang. Lady! the daylight's precious: Pray you, turn to me. In my study, here, [Raises his hand to the sleeve. Isa. Sir, you are too bold! Ang. Pardon me, lady! Nature's masterpiece Should be beyond your hiding, or my praise. Were you less marvellous, I were too bold; But there's a pure divinity in beauty, Which the true eye of Art looks on with reverence, Though, like the angels, it were all unclad! You have no right to hide it. Isa. How! No right? |