To harm you; and your eyes are spared, I see, Isab. There's but one my duty bids me look to. Isab. And and my heart. Duke. Indeed ? De Med. My lord, my lord! Sforza. Ha! good De Medici! welcome. De Med. Thanks, dear Sforza ; [They talk. I thought you'd not have marked me. Is your mood Always so very contemplative? Sforza. O no! 'Tis the fair princess-But my nephew has Forgot me Galeazzo, may I ask, (When you're at leisure,) that you'll make me known To your sweet bride? Duke. O! my dear uncle, pardon; This is my guardian, dearest Isabel : My father, I should say I pray you love him. If Sforza. Ludovico Sforza, lady, and your knight; you will own so poor a one. Isab. Thanks, sir. De Med. He is a dangerous man, my princess, for I saw him gazing on you— Sforza. How? De Med. As though he'd found A star, and was under the influence of The planets. Sforza. Pr'ythee-but the princess has Not seen the Alps by day-light: Turn your eyes Duke. The very hills give welcome to my love! Isab. Oh! take care, my lord, You'll spoil me else, I fear. Sforza. This day looks like The holiday of Nature, madam, and you Now for our marriage: blush not, for by this blue And bending canopy, there's nought so fair As thee, my own sweet bride; and none so happy Sforza. I'll follow. Come. She's gone and it is night. What! shall I in [Exeunt. To reign in Milan-no, no, that's my care. The same Ludovico Sforza who did win SCENE II-A Room with a Banquet. Time lags, and slights his duty. I remember I drench his wing with tears. How heavily The minutes pass. Can he avoid me? Oh! I almost wish and yet that must not be. Hark, hark! I hear a step come sounding through The hall. It is the murderer, Sforza. Now, Rise up my heart in thy own strength, and do Enter SFORZA. Sforza. My love ! Oh! my delight, my deity! I am come To thank you for being gracious. I am late? But sad, my Isabella : let me hope No ill has happened: nothing sweet to sway Isab. Be assured of that [Exit. My soul-I mean that-Ah! you're grave: Well! you Have cause to chide me, but my spirits have Been faint to-night at times. I'll do my best To entertain you as you merit. Sforza. Far Better, I hope, my Isabel. Isab. Your grace May challenge any thing: Report has been So lavish in its favors tow'rd you, that All hearts must fain be yours. Even I, you see, Her sorrows quite, am here i' the midst of tears, To smile (like April) on you; But you'll grow To your amorous conquests. I must do 't. You shall, my Isabella. Isab. Sir, I will. You shall be wholly mine-till death. I have, Isab. We'll find a way-Nay, not so free, my lord; Sforza. Oh! what can I say? Thou art so lovely to me, that my words Must sound like cheats to many. They of whom The poets told, men say, were shadows, and So they will swear of thee. Isab. Alas! my lord, I have no patronage Sforza. But I will have Your name recorded in the sweetest verse; And painters shall devise for us a story, Where thou and I, love, shall be seen reclining, Isab. A happy thought. Sforza. And in The guise of the throned Juno; I as Jove, In his diviner moments, languishing Beneath thy look. Isab. She was a shrew, my lord, (That queen o' the heavens) and I. Like her, who, in old inimitable tales, Shall wander, and green woods (their leaves just touched Smiling from out the east. What more? Oh! you Isab. An ugly story. Sforza. How, sweet? Isab. You would take me To-HELL, then. Pardon me, my lord, I am Sforza. Willingly. Isab. We'll be alone. A curious wine, my lord; and like those drops Sforza. Give it me, my love. May you ne'er know an hour of sorrow. Isab. Ha! Stay, stay; soft, put it down. Sforza. Why, how is this? [They feast. Isab. Would-would you drink without me? Shame upon you! Look at this fruit: a sea-worn captain, who Has sailed all 'round the world, brought it me from The Indian islands, and the natives there Do worship it. This Sforza. "T has a luscious taste. My nephew (when he lived) was fond of a fruit That's not unlike it. Isab. Thanks, ye spirits of vengeance! [Aside. Now you shall taste the immortal wine, my lord, Sforza. Cupid, then. He was a cunning god: he dimmed men's eyes, Isab. Ha! what's the matter, sir? Sforza. The wine is cold. Isab. You'll find it warmer, shortly. It is its nature, as I'm told, to heat The heart.- -My lord, I read but yesterday Of an old man, (a Grecian poet,) who Devoted all his life to wine, and died O' the grape : methinks 'twas just. Sforza. 'Twas so. This wine Isab. And stories have been told of men, whose lives Were infamous, and so their end: I mean That the red murderer has been murdered, and The traitor struck with treason: He, who has let The orphan perish, came himself to want : So that the scene of evil has been turned Sforza. Oh! my heart! Isab. Is the wine still so cold, sir? Some water. Isab. Isab. I burn with thirst. Oh! what is this? Bind that man To his seat. Sforza. Traitress! Isab. Now begone.. -My lord! [Servants exeunt. I'll not deceive you: you have drank a draught Will send you from this world. Sforza. My heart, my heart! Traitress! -I faint-faint-Ah ! Isab. I would have done "Tis My act of justice yet more mildly on you: You are condemned for ever. I could grieve Almost to see you with that marble look. Tow'rd shouting slaves, are fixed now: His eye Memorials of their cold inhabitants. [He dies. Speak! are you grown to stone? What can you say Rouse you? How idly his arms hang.-Turn your eyes Ha? he is dead-dead. So, by me.Sweet heaven! |