University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

CASTLE OF BERTINORO. Countess of Bertinoro, Marchesella, Paolucci, and Stamura.
Page.
My lady! here are two such men as never
Enter'd a palace-gate.

Countess.
Who are they?

Page.
One
Older than anything I ever saw,
Alive or dead; the other a stout youth,
Guiding him, and commanding all around
To stand aside, and give that elder way;
At first with gentle words, and then with stern.
Coarse their habiliments, their beards unshorn,
Yet they insist on entrance to my lady.

Countess.
Admit the elder, but exclude the other.
Wait. [To Marchesella.

If the younger be his son, what little
Of service I may render to the father
Will scarce atone for keeping him apart. [To the Page.

Go; bid them enter; both.

[Stamura, having led Paolucci in, retires.
Paolucci.
I come, O countess!
Imploring of your gentleness and pity,
To save from fire and sword, and, worse than either,
Worse, and more imminent, to save from famine
The few brave left, the many virtuous,
Virgins and mothers (save them!) in Ancona.

Countess.
Nay, fall not at my knee. Age must not that . .
Raise him, good Marchesella!

Paolucci.
You too, here,
Illustrious lord?

Marchesella.
What! and art thou still living,
Paolucci? faithful, hospitable soul!
We have not met since childhood . . mine, I mean.

Paolucci.
Smile not, my gentle lord! too gracious then,
Be now more gracious; not in looks or speech,
But in such deeds as you can best perform.
Friendship another time might plead for us;
Now bear we what our enemy would else
Seize from us, all the treasures of our city,
To throw them at your feet for instant aid.
Help, or we perish. Famine has begun . .
Begun? has almost ended . . with Ancona.

Countess.
Already? We have been too dilatory.

Marchesella.
I could not raise the money on my lands
Earlier; it now is come. I want not yours:
Place it for safety in this castle-keep,
If such our lady's pleasure.

Countess.
Until peace.

Marchesella.
My troops are on the march.

Countess.
And mine not yet?
Repose you, sir! they shall arrive with you,
Or sooner. Is that modest youth your son?

Paolucci.
Where is he? gone again?

Countess.
When you first enter'd.

Paolucci.
Some angel whisper'd your benign intent
Into his ear, else had he never left me.
My son? Who would not proudly call him so?
Soon shall you hear what mother bore the boy,
And where he dash'd the galleys, while that mother
Fired their pine towers, already wheel'd against
Our walls, and gave us time . . for what? to perish.

Marchesella.
No, by the saints above! not yet, not yet.

[Trumpet sounds.
Countess.
Merenda is announced. Sir, I entreat you
To lead me! Grant one favour more; and hint not
To our young friend that we have learnt his prowess.

[To a Page.