_Mar._ The cause of that miscarriage Was the betrayal? _Pal._ How should I forget? _Mar._ Now wilt thou say I love but thy success? ’Twas I betrayed thy men. _Pal._ Ha! thou was’t! was’t thou? (_Leaping up from Margaret, who staggers against the wall._) From me, sorceress, thou viper, go from me! 2480 Traitress, was’t thou? Thou wast my secret curse! Sent by the devil, wast thou, to destroy me, To kill my soul? And bringest now thy money [_Strews it about._ To buy thy happiness: and of thy love Pratest, and sayst, _Come forth with me_! With thee? Rather all deaths, a thousand deaths of shame,— The axe, the gallows. O, my faithful men, My brave men! and for them!—Ah! I will love My executioner more than thee. Love thee! There is not any tyrant or crowned fiend 2490 Whom I will hate like thee. _Mar._ Then kill me, Giovanni. [_Swoons falling._ _Pal._ (_taking out dagger_). This dagger in my heart, and I am avenged. Nay, nay, O God, I am adding wrong to wrong. [_Putting dagger back._ And Manuel. Alas! what have I done? [_Runs to Margaret._ I spake too roughly, Margaret; I was angry: I knew not what I said. Margaret, I am sorry. Forgive me, Margaret. Nay, I meant it not. I am not angry with thee now. I think I can forgive thee. Hear me! She doth not hear me. She doth not breathe. Her eyes are fixed and sightless. 2500 Her hands are cold. My God, oh, if I have killed her! Margaret, Margaret! Dost thou not hear?—I have killed her.—Margaret! I do forgive thee. I forgive thee all. O God, she is dead, she is dead.—Now if I kiss her, If she can feel (_kissing_). She stirs. O, Margaret, Hear me. I do forgive thee all. _Mar._ Giovanni: I did it for thy love. _Pal._ Thank God, thank God. Now thou dost breathe and speak. O, I was cruel; I was too angry.—Margaret, forgive me. 2510 Kiss me, forgive. [_Noise at door._ _Mar._ Hark, at the door they come; ’Tis now thy time to fly. _Pal._ How can I leave thee? I cannot thus. _Enter Blasco with sword drawn, Livio and two soldiers._ _Mar._ Go for thy life, Giovanni: Fly, fly: think not of me! _BLASCO._ Stay, not so fast, You pretty pair of loving turtle-doves, Cooing your sweet farewells in such a cote; We shall not separate you yet so far.