University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Carravagio and Ferdinando.
CARRAVAGIO.
'Tis very strange! How could they doubt of me?
Why should a robb'ry crimson her with shame?
Ferdinando!—

FERDINANDO.
Sir! well?

CARRAVAGIO.
(I am distrest.)

FERDINANDO.
If you don't want me, sir, I may retire.

CARRAVAGIO.
Was it at two, that you came home last night?

FERDINANDO.
It was: Pray what is it to you? Am I
Bound to inform you of my coming home;
Or when, or how, I spend my master's time?

CARRAVAGIO.
Friend, be not insolent. Know, sullen knave,
That not thy master would so answer me.

FERDINANDO.
No: were he wise, he would not use his tongue.

CARRAVAGIO.
For this time I can pass thy insolence.—
There has been done a fatal deed last night.

FERDINANDO.
I know there has; and do you, sir, blame me?

CARRAVAGIO.
Art thou afraid I should, ill-manner'd cur?
But if in matter so juridical,
I could persuade the world of my skill,
There would not want sufficient evidence,
The forehead mark of guilt is set so plain.

FERDINANDO.
Shall I be ruin'd by your painting fancies?
What is there, sir, in this same pencil craft,
To make of me a villain or a saint,
But the devices of a plotting brain?

CARRAVAGIO.
Think'st thou, lewd epicure, thy sensual eye
Can the fine workings of the mind discern,
As they develope to the painter's sight;
Or that my art but ministers to pomp,
And has no influence in that holy process,
Which separates the pure celestial mind,
From such vile carnal dross, as rules in thee?
The painter's pencil, in expression true,
Conveys a moral like the poet's pen;
And feelings faithful on the easel limm'd,
Instruct the spirit and improve the heart,
Like eloquence, with all the shades of phraze,
Or poetry, embodied on the stage.
Go; fear my skill; and if thou can'st, atone;
For thou hast done that which I dread to think.—
A deed so dark, leads to a deadly sequel.