University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.

[Pasquali's Chamber. Fiametta sitting with his cap in her hand.]
FIAMETTA.
What wilt thou do for a black feather, Pasquali?

PASQUALI.
Hast thou no money?

FIAMETTA.
No—save my dowry of six pieces.

PASQUALI.

Give the pieces to me, and thy dowry will be ten times greater.

FIAMETTA.

An it be not six times les, I will never trust counting upon fingers.

PASQUALI.

Hast thou no dread of dying uncelebrated?

FIAMETTA.

If it be sin I have a dread of it by baptism.

PASQUALI.

Is it a sin to neglect thy immortality?

FIAMETTA.

Ay—it is.

PASQUALI.

Then take heed how thou fallest into sin—for to be the friend of a poet is to be immortal, and thou art no friend of mine if I have not thy six pieces.

FIAMETTA.

But how shall I have six times more, master Pasquali?

PASQUALI.

In reputation! Wouldst thou marry a fool?

FIAMETTA.

No, truly.

PASQUALI.

Then if thy husband be wise, he will be more proud that thou art famous, than covetous of thy six pieces.

FIAMETTA.

And shall I be famous? (Gives him the money.)

PASQUALI.

Thou wilt live when Sforza is dead!

FIAMETTA.

Is not Sforza famous, then?

PASQUALI.

He hath fame while he lives, and so had king Priam of Troy. But if Homer had not written, Priam would have been forgot and Troy too; and if Sforza live not in poetry, he is as dead in a century—as thou and Laura were, but for your favors to Petrarch and Pasquali.

FIAMETTA.

Why does not Sforza give thee six pieces and be immortal?

PASQUALI.

Truly—he pays more for a less matter! It is the blindness of great men that they slight the poets. Look here now—hath not Sforza shed blood, and wasted treasure, and taken a thousand murders on his soul, to leave a name after him?

FIAMETTA.

I misdoubt he hath.

PASQUALI.

Now will I, whom he thinks less worthy than a trumpeter, sit down, and with a scrape of my pen, make a dog's name more known to posterity.

FIAMETTA.

When thou speakest of a dog, I think of my Lady's

page. Canst thou tell me why she should love him so out of reason?

PASQUALI.

Canst thou tell me why the moon riseth not every night, as the sun every day?

FIAMETTA.

No—truly.

PASQUALI.

Neither can I give thee reason for a woman's fancy— which is as unaccountable in its caprice as the moon in its changes. Hence the sun is called “he,” the moon “she.”

FIAMETTA.

Holy Virgin—what it is to be learned!

PASQUALI.

Come, Fiametta! spend thy dowry while thy mind is enlightened!

FIAMETTA.

If I should repent now!

PASQUALI.

Think not of it. If thou shouldst repent to-morrow, I shall still go beseemingly to the funeral, and 'thou wilt be famous past praying for. Come away!

SCENE II.

[The Garden of the palace of Milan. Enter Bianca, in mourning, followed by Sarpellione.]
BIANCA.
Liar—'tis not true!

SARPELLIONE.
Will't please you read this letter from the King,
Writ when he sent him to you—

BIANCA,
(plucks it from him, and tears it to pieces.)
'Tis a lie
Writ by thyself—

SARPELLIONE,
(taking up the pieces.)
The King has written here
The story of his birth, and that he is
Your brother, pledges his most royal honour—

BIANCA.
Lie upon lie—

SARPELLIONE.
And will maintain the same
With sword and battle!

BIANCA.
Let him! There's a Sforza
Will whip him back to Naples! Tell him so!
There'll be a Duke upon the throne of Milan
In three days more whose children will be Kings!

SARPELLIONE.
Your brother, Madam?

BIANCA.
Liar, no!—my husband!
The Crown is mine, and I will give it him!

SARPELLIONE.
Pardon me, Lady, 'tis not yours to give!
While a Visconti lives—and one does live—
Princely and like his father—'tis not yours—
And Sforza dare not take it.

BIANCA.
He has taken it,
In taking me. Sforza is Duke, I say!

SARPELLIONE.
Am I dismiss'd to Naples with this news?

BIANCA.
Ay—on the instant!

SARPELLIONE.
Will you give me leave
To bid the Prince make ready for his journey?

BIANCA.
What Prince?

SARPELLIONE.
Your brother, Madam; who'll come back
With the whole league of armed Italy
To take the crown he's born to.

BIANCA.
I've a page
I love, called Giulio! If you mean to ask me
If he goes with you—lying traitor! no!
I love him, and will keep him!

SARPELLIONE.
Ay—till Milan
Knows him for Prince, and then farewell to Sforza!
He's flown too near the sun!

BIANCA.
Foul raven, silence!
What dost thou know of eagles, who wert born
To mumble over carrion! Hast thou look'd
On the high front of Sforza! Hast thou heard
The thunder of his voice? Hast met his eye?
'Tis writ upon his forehead: “born a king!”
Read it, blind liar!

SARPELLIONE.
Upon your brother's, Lady,
The world shall read it.

BIANCA.
Wilt thou drive me mad?
They say all breathing nature has an instinct
Of that which would destroy it. I of thee
Feel that abhorrence! If a glistering serpent
Hiss'd in my path, I could not shudder more,
Nor would I kill it sooner—so begone!
I'll strike thee dead else!

SARPELLIONE.
Madam!
(Exit Sarpellione.)

BIANCA.
'Tis my brother!
At the first word with which he broke it to me
My heart gave nature's echo! 'Tis my brother!
I would that he were dead—and yet I love him—
Love him so well, that I could die for him—
Yet hate him that he bars the crown from Sforza.
He's betwixt me and Heaven! were he but dead,
Sforza and I would, like the sun and moon,
Have all the light the world has! He must die!
Milan will rise for him—his boyish spirit
Is known and loved in every quarter of it.
Naples is powerful, and Venice holds
Direct succession holy, and the lords
Of all the Marches will cry “down, usurper!”
For Sforza's glory has o'ershadowed their's.
Both cannot live, or I must live unloved—
And that were hell—or die, and Heaven without him
Were but a hell—for I've no soul to go there!
Nothing but love! no memory but that!
No hope! no sense!—Heaven were a madhouse to me!
Hark! who comes here?

[Enter Sarpellione and Brunorio. Bianca conceals herself.]
SARPELLIONE.
Strike but this blow, Brunorio—
And thou'rt a made man!

BRUNORIO.
Sforza sleeps not well.

SARPELLIONE.
Art thou less strong of arm than he who called thee
A brainless ass!

BRUNORIO.
'Sdeath, he did call me so!

SARPELLIONE.
And more I never told thee. Pay him for it—
And thou wilt save a Prince who'll cherish thee,
And Sforza's soul a murder—for he'll kill him
Ere one might ride to Naples.

BRUNORIO.
Think'st thou so?

SARPELLIONE.
Is it not certain? If this boy were dead
Sforza were Duke. With Milan at his back
He were the devil. Rather than see this,
Alfonso would share half his kingdom with thee.

BRUNORIO.
I'll do it!

SARPELLIONE.
Thou wilt save a Prince's life
Whom he would murder. Now collect thy senses,
And look around thee! On that rustic bank,
Close by the fountain, with his armor off,
He sleeps away the noon.

BRUNORIO.
With face uncovered?

SARPELLIONE.
Sometimes—but oftener with his mantle drawn
Quite over him! But thou must strike so well,
That, should he see thee, he will never tell on't.

BRUNORIO.
I'd rather he were covered.

SARPELLIONE.
'Tis most likely—
But mark the ground well. By this alley here,
You'll creep on unperceived. If he's awake—
You're his Lieutenant, and may have good reason
To seek him any hour! Are you resolved?

BRUNORIO.
I am!

SARPELLIONE.
Once more look round you!

BRUNORIO.
If he sleep
To-morrow he'll ne'er wake!

SARPELLIONE.
Why, that's well said—
Come now and try the horse I've chosen for you.
We'll fly like birds with welcome news to Naples!

(Exeunt Sarpellione and Brunorio.)
BIANCA.
Thank God that I was here! Can there be souls
So black as these—to plot so foul a murder!
Oh unretributive and silent Heavens!
Heard you these men? Thank God that I can save him!
The sun shone on them—on these murderers—
As it shines now on me!—Would it were Giulio
They thought to murder!—Ha! what ready fiend
Whisper'd me that? Giulio instead of Sforza!
Why that were murder—too!—Brunorio's murder!—
Not mine!—my hands would show no blood for it!
If Giulio were asleep beneath the mantle
To-morrow noon, and Sforza in his chamber—
What murder lies upon my soul for that?
[OMITTED]
I'll come again to-night, and see the place,
And think on't in the dark!
[Exit Bianca.