[_Exit the_ DUKE _leaning on_ GUIDO, _with his Court_.]
The Duke said rightly that I was alone; Deserted, and dishonoured, and defamed, Stood ever woman so alone indeed? Men when they woo us call us pretty children, Tell us we have not wit to make our lives, And so they mar them for us. Did I say woo? We are their chattels, and their common slaves, Less dear than the poor hound that licks their hand, Less fondled than the hawk upon their wrist. Woo, did I say? bought rather, sold and bartered, Our very bodies being merchandise. I know it is the general lot of women, Each miserably mated to some man Wrecks her own life upon his selfishness: That it is general makes it not less bitter. I think I never heard a woman laugh, Laugh for pure merriment, except one woman, That was at night time, in the public streets. Poor soul, she walked with painted lips, and wore The mask of pleasure: I would not laugh like her; No, death were better.
[_Enter_ GUIDO _behind unobserved_; _the_ DUCHESS _flings herself down before a picture of the Madonna_.]
O Mary mother, with your sweet pale face Bending between the little angel heads That hover round you, have you no help for me? Mother of God, have you no help for me?
I can endure no longer. This is my love, and I will speak to her. Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers?
None but the wretched needs my prayers, my lord.
How is that? Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour?
Your Grace, I lack no favours from the Duke, Whom my soul loathes as I loathe wickedness, But come to proffer on my bended knees, My loyal service to thee unto death.
Alas! I am so fallen in estate I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks.
[_The_ DUCHESS _starts_, _and_ GUIDO _falls at her feet_.]
O dear saint, If I have been too daring, pardon me! Thy beauty sets my boyish blood aflame, And, when my reverent lips touch thy white hand, Each little nerve with such wild passion thrills That there is nothing which I would not do To gain thy love. [_Leaps up_.] Bid me reach forth and pluck Perilous honour from the lion’s jaws, And I will wrestle with the Nemean beast On the bare desert! Fling to the cave of War A gaud, a ribbon, a dead flower, something That once has touched thee, and I’ll bring it back Though all the hosts of Christendom were there, Inviolate again! ay, more than this, Set me to scale the pallid white-faced cliffs Of mighty England, and from that arrogant shield Will I raze out the lilies of your France Which England, that sea-lion of the sea, Hath taken from her! O dear Beatrice, Drive me not from thy presence! without thee The heavy minutes crawl with feet of lead, But, while I look upon thy loveliness, The hours fly like winged Mercuries And leave existence golden.
