 | The Virgin Widow ; or, A Sicilian Summer |  |
ACT II.
Scene I.
—An Avenue in the Gardens of the Palazzo Malespina. In the back scene tents are spread for a fête champêtre.—Conrado and Bruno.Conrado.
And all for her! Well, she's a gracious lady;
But there's a measure, master Bruno.
Bruno.
Yea,
She's a sweet lady, but she's costly, Sir.
The tournament, the banquet, and the masque
Shall reach a thousand ducats—in one day—
Gone in one day! the lands of Malespina
Are broad and fat; but all things have an end.
Conrado.
A thousand ducats!
Bruno.
Ere yon sun be set.
Conrado.
And shall he win her when his all is spent?
True, she is heiress to Count Procida
And rich enough to marry one that's poor;
But wealth will after kind,—it will, it will.
Attendance! here's the King!
Bruno.
Fall back a space
And make a sign to yonder gilded troop
To sound their cornets.
[Exeunt.
The King.
I grudge you not your victory in the tilting;
for there were eyes fell with my fall which I think better
of than of any that blazed at your triumph. Who was
she that cried out so piteously?
Silisco.
Sir, 'twas the little Lisana, daughter of your
Majesty's Physician, Gerbetto. Ruggiero can tell you
more of her than I. He frequents her for her singing.
The King.
A good musician is she?
Enter Ubaldo, Rosalba, and Fiordeliza.
Ruggiero.
Sir, she's young,
Yet I have heard some adepts in her art
Who pleased me less; for she is true, yet free,
Abandon'd to her strain, and hath a voice
That whoso' hears feels for the time no touch
Of pain or weariness or troubled thought
But following in the train of melody
To that seductive sequence of sweet sounds
Tunes his attentive mind. 'Tis wonderful
What power upon the passionate sould of man
Resides in that low voice.
The King.
Well praised at least.
Silisco.
Welcome, fair guests, again. Pass on, I pray;
The dance awaits you.
Presently we'll follow.
Fiordeliza.
Well praised indeed! Indeed I wish her joy.
[Exeunt Rosalba and Fiordeliza.
The King.
Ruggiero, if this doctor's daughter sings so
well, methinks our evening's entertainment should not be
the worse for her; I pray you bring her hither.
[Exit Ruggiero.
My Lord of Malespina, attend your guests. We stay for
a word with the Chamberlain, trusting thereby to do you
some service.
[Exit Silisco.
Ubaldo.
This Marquis, my Lord, hath gifts by nature
that might be fruitful in your Majesty's service, were
he well guided; but as he carries himself, he is but to
your court like the streamer over yonder pavilion,—
the ornament of a holiday and the plaything of the
winds; and were not the intent of this day's doings to
minister to your Majesty's amusement, I could call them
most idle.
The King.
They are not for my amusement, I think,
but in honour of another; and she, I hope, will regard
them with more favour. My Lord, this month and more,
and indeed since first your daughter came to court, it
has been in my heart to speak with you on her behoof.
She is, in my poor apprehension, a sweet, gentle, and of
her years, truly a comely and majestic lady.
Ubaldo.
Your Majesty is kind; and to speak of her
truly, the child is of a goodly presence and demeanour,
and hath a freshness and sweet savour that I know not if
her father could boast these fifty years.
The King.
Surely; and looking on her comeliness
and youth, shall it not touch us with some careful
thoughts as to the bestowing of her in marriage. I
think, Sir, with so much beauty there were no little danger
in the mismatching of her.
Ubaldo.
Most justly noted. Your Majesty hath the
like discretion in affairs familiar as at the Council Board.
Yet a blind instinct had supplied me, and I had already
taken thought for the girl. I think your Majesty knows
whom I have provided and that you could wish it no
other.
The King.
Indeed, Sir, but I do. Count Ugo is a
nobleman of surpassing worth and wealth; but his time
of life borders on threescore and ten and the years that
he has left for her should be but labour and sorrow.
Besides, the damsel being of so great virtue and
discretion, the inclination of her own fancies and affections
should methinks be somewhat regarded.
Ubaldo.
Your Majesty's admonition is most wise; but
you shall pardon me for averring that I have needed it
not. To carry the damsel's inclinations with me has ever
been my care, and from her cradle I have bid her beware
of those green gallants and those hot bloods which take
a maid to wife as parcel of their revels and lay her by
like the napkin that hath wiped their beards. I bade her
to know that a constancy of kindness should be found in
those of riper years, and she, being of a wise and prudent
spirit, hath ever assented and applied herself to the
affecting of old men.
The King.
Hath she indeed? But either my
observation is at fault or her assent extends not to Count
Ugo.
Ubaldo.
The watchfulness of a parent, my Lord, is
more than discernment; else should I not presume to say
you err.
The King.
What! mean you that she is herself wishful
to marry Count Ugo?
Ubaldo.
She is, my Lord; Count Ugo is her choice,
Her absolute and unalterable choice;
I could not turn her from him if I would.
The King.
Now truly this is strange! You ought to know;
And yet I could have sworn her looks of love
Were bent upon another—on Silisco.
Ubaldo.
Impossible! I warn'd her from the first
That marry whom she might she could not him.
His wealth was wondrous once; but wondrous waste
Has scatter'd it to every wind that blows;
His lands at Malespina are impledged
For more than they are worth—a monstrous sum—
To good Count Ugo; what he hath besides
This Jew or that lays claim to.
The King.
There's a ship
Brings treasure to Silisco of such price
As amply shall redeem his lands and him.
Ubaldo.
My Lord, a large remainder of his wealth,
'Tis true, is coming swiftly o'er the sea
To gild a summer's day and disappear.
Lo! what he squanders ev'n on this day's feast!
I crave your pardon, knowing him your friend,
My gracious Lord; but were it not a sin
To force my child aboard this leaky craft
With every stitch of canvas madly set
To court the storm?
The King.
To force the lady's choice
Were any way a sin; but should she yield
(As, if I miss not of my aim, she will)
A free consent, I answer for my friend
That he shall leak no longer, but repair,
With such small aid as may be mine to give,
The vessel of his fortunes; which perform'd,
I trust a match so seemly, of a man
Whom doting Nature constituted heir
Of all she had, and accident upraised
To eminence of station, with a maid
As nobly born, and in her kind and sex
As excellently gifted, should command
Your kind approval.
Ubaldo.
Sire, the maiden's choice
Is fix'd on Ugo and my faith is pledged;
And settle them in trust, and should the Count
Release me, and the child be wrought upon
To change her purpose, then ....
The King.
I think, my friend,
All these conditions you shall find fulfill'd
Ere many days. Well, shall we see the dance?
[Exeunt.
Enter Rosalba and Fiordeliza.
Fiordeliza.
Let me alone, I say; I will not dance.
Rosalba.
Not if Ruggiero ask you?
Fiordeliza.
He indeed!
If the Colossus came from Rhodes and ask'd me
Perhaps I might.
Rosalba.
Come, Fiordeliza, come;
I think, if truth were spoken 'tis not much
You have against that knight.
Fiordeliza.
Not much you think;
Well, be it much or little, 'tis enough;
He has his faults.
Rosalba.
Recount me them; what are they?
Fiordeliza.
I'll pick you out a few: my wallet: first,
He's grave; his coming puts a jest to flight
As winter does the swallow.
Rosalba.
Something else;
For this may be a merit: jests are oft
Fiordeliza.
He's rude; he's stirring ever with his staff
A growling great she-bear that he calls Truth.
Rosalba.
The rudeness is no virtue; but for love
Of that she-bear, a vice that's worse might pass.
Again?
Fiordeliza.
He's slow,—slow as a tortoise,—once
He was run over by a funeral.
Rosalba.
He may have failings, but if these be all
I would that others were as innocent.
Fiordeliza.
Oh, others! Say then who?
Rosalba.
Nay, others,—all;
I wish that all mankind were innocent.
Fiordeliza.
You are a dear well-wisher of mankind
And in a special charity you wish well
To that good knight Silisco. What! do you blush?
Rosalba.
No; though you fain would make me.
Fiordeliza.
No! What's this,
That with an invisible brush doth paint thee red?
Well, I too can be charitable and wish
Silisco were less wicked.
Rosalba.
Is he wicked?
Fiordeliza.
Is waste not wickedness? and know you not
The lands of Malespina day by day
Diminish in his hands?
Rosalba.
True, waste is sin.
My mother (and no carking cares had she
In many a vigil of her last sick bed
Bade me beware of spendthrifts, as of men
That seeming in their youth not worse than light,
Would end not so, but with the season change;
For time, she said, which makes the serious soft,
Turns lightness into hardness.
Fiordeliza.
Said she so?
But I am light myself.
Rosalba.
Adversity
Will sometimes soften what should else be hard:
It may please Providence to visit you
With some disaster for your good.
Fiordeliza.
Oh me!
Pray not for that! I will be good and grave
And soft without a bruise.
Rosalba.
Sing a soft song;
If you are ever soft 'tis when you sing.
Fiordeliza.
And dream'd of pleasant days
When he with flowers should deck his bride
And she deck him with bays.
And went his way to court;
But there they took him for a toy
And turn'd him into sport.
Not here, not here, he cried,
But I shall find her in my bed
Upon the lone hill-side.
Enter Silisco.
Silisco.
My guests, I think,
Are tired of dancing, and the players wait.
What play shall they present?
Fiordeliza.
A dolorous play;
A play to weep at.
Silisco.
Do you love to weep
Or in defiance choose a tragedy?
Fiordeliza.
No, Sir, I choose it but to give me rest
From laughing; I'm as lazy as the dog
That lean'd his head against a wall to bark,
And there are such a sort of men about me
As take away my breath. Lo! there again!
[Ruggiero crosses the back scene, leading Lisana.
What comedy can show me aught like that?
There is a man whose aspect, you would swear,
Proclaim'd Queen Nature's warrant and commission
To preach repentance to a sinful world
And frighten it,—upon whose brow you read
Pleasure's “hic jacet;” yet behold his life,
His occupation! Never seen abroad
But in his hand some rosy Magdalen
That looks as hastening to repeat the sin
And I must see it to an end. Farewell!
[Exit.
Rosalba.
Stay, Fiordeliza. Nay, then, I must follow.
Silisco.
Not yet,—not yet; from what you said in the dance
I gather that the Court's calumnious tongues
Are busy with my name; my life, I know,
Has heretofore been led in such a sort
As makes the wise to wonder; let them gape
As wide as wisdom may; I know besides
They charge me with more frailties than I own,
And having of my genuine stock enough
I would not you should therein err with them;
My life has been, though volatile, not gross,
For God bestow'd upon me at my birth
A heart that fill'd the measure of its joys
From its own fountains, craving nought beside.
So heretofore it was; and since that eve
When, as you landed in the dimpled bay
From Procida, I help'd you from the boat
And touch'd your hand and as the shallop rock'd
Embolden'd by your fears I....pardon me,
I should not make you to remember more,—
But since that moment when the frolicsome waves
Toss'd you towards me,—blessings on their sport!
I have not felt one kindling of a thought,
One working of a wish but you were in it;
Awakening me, awaken'd you within me;
The darkness closing shut us up together:
I saw you in the mountains, fields, and woods;
Flowers breathed your breath, winds chaunted with your voice,
And Nature's beauty clothed itself in yours.
Then think not that my life, though idly led,
Is tainted or impure or bound to sense,
Or if incapable of itself to soar
Unworthy to be lifted from the dust
By love of what is lofty.
Rosalba.
No, oh! no,
It was not that I heard, nor of that dye;
Else had the taint remain'd upon the tongue
That spake; 'twas but your prudence was impugned,
Nor with unfriendly comment.
Silisco.
I am charged,
As ofttimes it is told me, by the world,
With reckless waste and wild improvidence.
What call they prudence? Money which I waste
I prize not; if I scatter to the winds
As often as I launch my caravel
To take my pleasure on the dancing waves
A hundred million drops of ocean-spray,
Who says I waste sea-water? yet that spray
Is not more worthless in the world's account
Than gold in mine. But give me what I prize,
The hope that, bubbling from my breast, shall feed
The roots of stately trees and odorous flowers
And make my soul prolific,—give me that,
And you shall know me for a miser.
Rosalba.
Oh!
Be careful of what love you venture for;
For in so much as love is better worth
So prudence is more prizeable in love.
My hand, you know, is promised.
Silisco.
Not by you.
Rosalba.
To my loved mother, on the day she died,
I gave a promise solemn as a vow,
That I in all things would obey my father,
And specially in the choice of whom to wed.
You know my father's choice.
Silisco.
It cannot be;
He shall not link you to a living death;
The world, which is his idol, would revolt
From such an immolation; good men would blush
And wicked men deride and all cry shame
On the hard father and preposterous spouse.
Rosalba.
My Lord of Malespina, I am young
And know not how to answer words like these;
But they offend me. I have heard it said
No spendthrift ever yet was generous;
I hope it is not true; but bear in mind
That my good father has a father's rights
Count Ugo has not injured you—nay more,
'Tis said that through a long and innocent life
He never injured any. For myself,
Although a coffin were my nuptial bed
The promise to my sainted mother made
Should not be unfulfill'd.
Silisco.
I stand reproved:
Pardon my ill behaviour: I am rude,
Unjust, ungenerous, by passion, Lady,
By nature not. One boon alone I beg.
I look not on you as on one betroth'd.
The King befriends me, and Count Ugo's will
Devoutly loyal answers to the King's
In all things. At a word he yields you up.
Your father is of sterner metal made:
But though I rival not the Count in wealth
Not many rival me, and thus the King
Will want not power with him too to prevail.
I therefore hold you as absolved and free.
Now were you truly in your own sight so,
And should I ask you then,—not for your love,
But for your leave to love you, what reply
Should greet me?
Rosalba.
Counting on my father's change
You are, I fear, too sanguine.
Silisco.
Do you fear?
That is a fear at which a thousand hopes
Recoil not nor be frighted at the fire
One spark has kindled—quench it not—oh leave
The beauteous element to mount and soar
Though it should bear destruction on its wings;
For in the vast dark hollow of this world
Whate'er of earthly affluence it devours
It lights the heavens that else were but half seen.
You wish my suit to prosper; give it room;
Grant me at least till All-Saints' Eve to bend
Your father's iron will.
Rosalba.
That is not much;
Freely I grant you that.
Silisco.
But plight your faith
That neither force, persuasion, nor the moods
Of changeful will that oft in woman's youth
Betray resolve, nor yet the masking voice
So plausible, of filial duty, found
In duty's self-destruction, shall prevail
To bind you to another till the term
Now granted shall expire.
Rosalba.
That I am proof
Against some pressures which are said to strain
A woman's purpose from its constancy,
I show, methinks, not doubtfully in this,—
That granting you thus much I grant no more.
That little which I promise, judge from this
If I shall faithfully perform.
Bruno.
My Lord,
I pray you pardon me; the Chamberlain
Calls for his daughter to attend him home,
As now the dews are falling.
Rosalba.
Say I come.
I hope not with a fearless hope like yours;
But yet believe me, Sir, the hope I have
If wreck'd would bring a ruin on my heart
It hardly could sustain. I say too much:
And yet it seems too little. Fare you well.
Silisco.
Look! where in yonder heaven near the moon
Glitters the star they call the star of love.
A Spirit has his dwelling in that star
Whence emanating he on earth alights
Sometimes, but only in earth's happiest hours,
And ranging then earth's happiest regions through
He seeks, and, bee-like, rifles of their sweets
The bosoms that are fullest of true love
And so with rapture satiate reascends:
That Spirit to that star did never take
Of truer love an ampler treasure home
Than you, if you should seek, would find in me.
Farewell, beloved Rosalba.
Rosalba.
Fare you well.
Judge of me gently; love me if you may.
[Exit.
(who had retired to the back scene, and now advances).
That the dew was falling was God's truth;
that the lady was sent for was man's invention.
Silisco.
How so? If it was thy invention, thy gift
that way was never more unseasonably exercised.
Bruno.
Hear me ere you pronounce. I had that to
speak which I think you would not that she should hear.
The Maddelena hath been seen and is seen no more.
Some say she was seen to sink.
Silisco.
Thou say'st not so? Then I sink too. But it
cannot be. There has been neither storm nor mist nor
aught that could bring her to danger.
Bruno.
She was clearly seen, and now she is lost to
sight; so much is certain.
Silisco.
Why 'tis the sun has sunk and not the ship;
Broad daylight show'd what twilight cannot. Go;
Entreat my guests to pardon me awhile;
The most are gone; I'll to the beach and see.
[Exit.
Bruno.
There is a certain scum of them left which I
shall know how to scatter. Had it not been for such
locusts and caterpillars as these, the lands of Malespina
had not now been coming by sea from Rhodes.
[Exit.
Enter Haggai and Sadoc meeting.
Haggai.
Hast thou found him?
Sadoc.
My Lord of Malespina? No.
They told me we should find him here. In
two hours more the good ship shall be at the quay.
Where is Shallum?
Sadoc.
He is on the watch-tower of the west gate,
looking out upon the sea. No, he comes hither.
Haggai.
Yea, this is he,—but his hands are tossed up
and his garment is rent; has aught happened to the
ship?
Enter Shallum.
Shallum.
Come ye to the beach;—the ship and the
treasure, my soul is troubled for the ship and treasure.
Haggai.
Nay, she is coming into port.
Shallum.
I beheld her from the watch-tower at eleven
of the clock and until six; but then she staggered and
ducked like a lame bird, and in a few moments she
vanished and was no more seen; so as my bowels yearn
for her lest that she be lost, and the jewels and the ingots
and the much treasures. But come ye to the beach.
Haggai.
Woe is me! my brother Shallum, I will come
with thee to the beach. But go thou, Sadoc, and sue out
writs against my Lord of Malespina. By Aaron's rod his
body shall be bail.
[Exeunt.
Enter the Manager and the Three Players.
1st Player.
What's ordered for to-night?
Manager.
Nothing's ordered; everything's forgotten;
the great actors are playing their parts at court and
we who are the small must shift for ourselves; yet
they'll expect a play when the night comes, and it
behoves us to choose what it shall be. What say ye, one
and all?
2nd Player.
Tell them over, as many as we are primed
with.
Manager.
First, here is “Sorrow's Sum Total!”
1st Player.
Ah! that is a sweet play; it was written by
a gentleman that was very loving and melancholy and
knew nothing but to sit by himself all day long weeping
and making verses. But the play is too mournful for the
Marquis: we'll not play that.
Manager.
Here is “Up with your Hearts, and Down
with the Dumps.”
1st Player.
The author of that was a great philosopher
and wrote an excellent treatise on politics, besides sundry
tales, chazas, ballads, and chansons. The Count of
Arona was greatly pleased with him and said that his
systems had the charm of novelty and his jests the
sanction of long usage.
3rd Player.
I remember him well; he tossed his heart
a thought too high, and it was killed by the fall; he died
of drinking, poor gentleman; and therefore we will not
act his play, inasmuch as, being dead, he will not make
us the customary compliment.
Manager.
Here is “Time's Tympany.”
1st Player.
'Tis too big.
“Cupid's Wet Nurse?”
1st Player.
'Tis pretty, but not passionate.
Manager.
“Love's Outgoings?”
1st Player.
No.
Manager.
“Lust's Leavings?”
1st Player.
The story has a good moral, but sleeps in
it as in a feather-bed.
Manager.
Then there is but one more,—“Woman half
pleased, and Satan satisfied.”
1st Player.
'Tis easy choosing when nothing's left.
That shall suffice for fault of a better. It has matter in
it and an outgrowth and consequence in the story.
Manager.
And for the casting.....
Enter Bruno.
Bruno.
Away, you knaves and minions, get ye gone!
You've eaten all, you saints of belly worship!
You gilded, painted, mimicries of men,
You butterflies by night and bats by day!
Hence with your belly-gods!
Manager.
How now! how now!
Bruno.
How now? Dost dare to say “how now” to me!
Thou urchin-snouted, trencher-pated rogue!
Where are thy manners and thy moderation
To say “how now” to me? My noble Lord
Is lost, undone!
My Lord of Malespina?
Bruno.
Yes he, thou trivial tripper up of virtue,
Thou seven-times whipp'd and ne'er corrected rogue,
Thou inadvertency of Nature, he.
No need for peering at me o'er thy paunch;
I tell thee he is beggar'd and undone;
The Maddelena with the rich remains
Of all he had, is in the offing wreck'd.
2nd Player.
We have not done it, Sir; revile not us.
Bruno.
Away, you rotten-hearted, rancid knaves!
It was a wind that smelling you in the port
Made violent recoil. Hence, hogs, begone!
Play me no plays; your trough is empty; scud.
Scene II.
—The Sea-shore.—Mate and Boatswain of the Maddelena.Mate.
Bah! we did but what three rats would have
done if it had pleased Providence. With what we got
we may have absolutions for the scuttling of twenty such
ships,—or of forty if the owners be Jews. Spadone
makes small haste to return; surely he has had time ten
times told to hide the booty.
Boatswain.
Hearest thou? The watch is cried at the
city gates.
Mate.
How long are we to wait? If thou knowest the
ways of the Catacombs, hie thee and fetch him off! for
else Aretina will hold him half the night.
I know them not; but with that yell in his
ears which followed us when we left the ship, it can
hardly be woman's dalliance that withholds him; more
likely she has played him false.
Mate.
Then are we much in jeopardy. Lo! who
comes here? By his gait and carriage it is the Marquis's
fast friend my Lord of Arona. Push off, push off!
Spadone must take his fate.
[They betake themselves to their boat and put to sea.
Enter Ruggiero.
Ruggiero.
Truly Silisco seems to have vanished as his
ship vanished; in a moment and without a warning.
Not though, like the ship, without cause that may be
guessed; for assuredly there will be writs out against
him when the news is known. He has conveyed himself
doubtless to some safe hiding-place. What is that? a
shock of seaweed or a head of hair? By Heaven, it is a
man that wrestles with the surf. Courage, my friend!
hold up thy head but an instant more and I am with
thee.
Why, cheer thee up? thou hast had a tustle for thy life,
but thou hast it and art none the worse I think, for thy
colour comes again. What! thou art doubtless a waif
from the wreck of the Maddelena. But silence! I
trouble thy devotions.
Next to God, Sir, I give thanks to you; for
under God it is to you that I owe my life. Strong
swimming stood me in stead for two long hours, but then
my strength was nigh spent and the surf should have
mastered me but for your help. I thank God for my life,
and I thank God that all men are not the merciless
villains that some are; for the villainy that put me in this
peril might have made me think mankind given over to
the Devil, but for the charity that plucked me out of it.
Ruggiero.
Villainy! Why, was it not the elements?
Sailor.
The elements were guiltless; the wreck was a
wreck of man's making and of the Devil's setting on;
and the captain, the mate, and the boatswain were the
instruments; they scuttled the ship and made off in a
boat with the treasure.
Ruggiero.
Ay, verily did they? And I saw but now
two men that fled at my approach as though the cry of
blood were behind and betook them to their boat.
Sailor.
They should be three. But had they peaked
beavers such as are worn at Rhodes?
Ruggiero.
They had, and doubtless they are full in
flight with their booty. Now if, as thou say'st, thou owest
thy peril to them and thy life to me, commit thyself with
me to the craft that is tethered in yonder cove and we
will give chase to them.
Sailor.
I am yours, Sir, for any service you shall
command, and you could not put me to one more welcome.
What course did they steer?
As if making for the coast of Calabria. We
shall have them in sight and to leeward round yonder
point.
Scene III.
—The Catacombs.—Spadone and Aretina.Spadone.
Silence! I did not come to thee for shrift.
Say one or fifty sent to feed the sharks,
What matters it? Of such a miscreant tribe
Each by the other would have done the like
But that they lack'd the courage and the scope
To rise above some petty piracy.
Truly to see the gallant ship go down
Went to my heart—she was a goodly craft!
But for the crew, I'd drown them twice a-day
And think no pity on't, more than to drown
A litter of blind puppies. Fare thee well!
Remember that to him who brings thee this
[Showing a ring.
Thou shalt disclose the treasure—to none else.
And thou shalt send me tidings, too, by him
Of what is said in Sicily. Farewell.
[Exit.
Aretina.
O monstrous crime! Ruthless, remorseless wretch!
And so besotted as to think my love
Would hold through all! A gurgling sobbing sound
My blood runs cold. Oh! I shall faint! and here!
And should the light go out .... I hear a step ...
(Enter Silisco.)
Who's there! Who are you?
[Utters a sharp cry.
Silisco.
Nay, but who art thou?
I swear 'tis Aretina—cold as stone!
What dost thou here? nay, courage—come, look up;
A friendly arm is round thee—know'st not me?
Aretina.
Oh yes, my Lord, I know you,—sent by Heaven—
For I have that to tell you ....
Spadone
(who had re-entered unobserved and stabs her from behind).
Which thy throat
Shall utter through a bloody new-made mouth.
[Aretina shrieks and flies.
And now, my Lord, for you!
Silisco.
A woman's blood,
Dastard! is all that thou shalt shed to-day.
[They fight. Spadone falls.
Slain is he? No, I think not—but he swoons.
Where's that unhappy girl? Fled forth the caves?
Well doth this caitiff merit to be left
To meet his fate; but should he wake to life
And find himself in darkness left to die
Gerbetto's house is on the beach hard by;
I'll take him there: the worthy doctor's skill
May call him from his trance, and he may thus
Repent and live or be absolv'd and die.
| The Virgin Widow ; or, A Sicilian Summer | |