SCENE.--_Up the Hillside, inside the Shrub-house._ LUCA'S _wife,_ OTTIMA, _and her paramour, the German_ SEBALD. _Sebald_ [_sings_]. _Let the watching lids wink! Day's ablaze with eyes, think! Deep into the night, drink!_ _Ottima._ Night? Such may be your Rhineland nights, perhaps; But this blood-red beam through the shutter's chink 5 --We call such light the morning: let us see! Mind how you grope your way, though! How these tall Naked geraniums straggle! Push the lattice Behind that frame!--Nay, do I bid you?--Sebald, It shakes the dust down on me! Why, of course 10 The slide-bolt catches. Well, are you content, Or must I find you something else to spoil? Kiss and be friends, my Sebald! Is 't full morning? Oh, don't speak then! _Sebald._ Aye, thus it used to be. Ever your house was, I remember, shut 15 Till midday; I observed that, as I strolled On mornings through the vale here; country girls Were noisy, washing garments in the brook, Hinds drove the slow white oxen up the hills; But no, your house was mute, would ope no eye. 20 And wisely; you were plotting one thing there, Nature, another outside. I looked up-- Rough white wood shutters, rusty iron bars, Silent as death, blind in a flood of light, Oh, I remember!--and the peasants laughed 25 And said, "The old man sleeps with the young wife." This house was his, this chair, this window--his! _Ottima._ Ah, the clear morning! I can see St. Mark's; That black streak is the belfry. Stop: Vicenza Should lie--there's Padua, plain enough, that blue! 30 Look o'er my shoulder, follow my finger! _Sebald._ Morning? It seems to me a night with a sun added. Where's dew, where's freshness? That bruised plant, I bruised In getting through the lattice yestereve, Droops as it did. See, here's my elbow's mark 35 I' the dust o' the sill. _Ottima._ Oh, shut the lattice, pray! _Sebald._ Let me lean out. I cannot scent blood here, Foul as the morn may be. There, shut the world out! How do you feel now, Ottima? There, curse The world and all outside! Let us throw off 40 This mask: how do you bear yourself? Let's out With all of it. _Ottima._ Best never speak of it. _Sebald._ Best speak again and yet again of it. Till words cease to be more than words. "His blood," For instance--let those two words mean "His blood" 45 And nothing more. Notice, I'll say them now, "His blood." _Ottima._ Assuredly if I repented The deed-- _Sebald._ Repent? Who should repent, or why? What puts that in your head? Did I once say That I repented?