Ah! dear Beatrice, Your lips are roses that death cannot wither.
Nay, if we lie together, will not my lips Fall into dust, and your enamoured eyes Shrivel to sightless sockets, and the worms, Which are our groomsmen, eat away your heart?
I do not care: Death has no power on love. And so by Love’s immortal sovereignty I will die with you.
But the grave is black, And the pit black, so I must go before To light the candles for your coming hither. No, no, I will not die, I will not die. Love, you are strong, and young, and very brave; Stand between me and the angel of death, And wrestle with him for me.
[_Thrusts_ GUIDO _in front of her with his back to the audience_.]
I will kiss you, When you have thrown him. Oh, have you no cordial, To stay the workings of this poison in me? Are there no rivers left in Italy That you will not fetch me one cup of water To quench this fire?
You did not tell me There was a drought in Italy, and no water: Nothing but fire.
Send for a leech, Not him who stanched my husband, but another We have no time: send for a leech, I say: There is an antidote against each poison, And he will sell it if we give him money. Tell him that I will give him Padua, For one short hour of life: I will not die. Oh, I am sick to death; no, do not touch me, This poison gnaws my heart: I did not know It was such pain to die: I thought that life Had taken all the agonies to itself; It seems it is not so.
O damnéd stars Quench your vile cresset-lights in tears, and bid The moon, your mistress, shine no more to-night.
Guido, why are we here? I think this room Is poorly furnished for a marriage chamber. Let us get hence at once. Where are the horses? We should be on our way to Venice now. How cold the night is! We must ride faster.
Music! It should be merrier; but grief Is of the fashion now—I know not why. You must not weep: do we not love each other?— That is enough. Death, what do you here? You were not bidden to this table, sir; Away, we have no need of you: I tell you It was in wine I pledged you, not in poison. They lied who told you that I drank your poison. It was spilt upon the ground, like my Lord’s blood; You came too late.
Sweet, there is nothing there: These things are only unreal shadows.