ORSINO: Once gone You cannot now recall your sister's peace; Your own extinguished years of youth and hope; _55 Nor your wife's bitter words; nor all the taunts Which, from the prosperous, weak misfortune takes; Nor your dead mother; nor... GIACOMO: O, speak no more! I am resolved, although this very hand Must quench the life that animated it. _60 ORSINO: There is no need of that. Listen: you know Olimpio, the castellan of Petrella In old Colonna's time; him whom your father Degraded from his post? And Marzio, That desperate wretch, whom he deprived last year _65 Of a reward of blood, well earned and due? GIACOMO: I knew Olimpio; and they say he hated Old Cenci so, that in his silent rage His lips grew white only to see him pass. Of Marzio I know nothing. ORSINO: Marzio's hate _70 Matches Olimpio's. I have sent these men, But in your name, and as at your request, To talk with Beatrice and Lucretia. GIACOMO: Only to talk? ORSINO: The moments which even now Pass onward to to-morrow's midnight hour _75 May memorize their flight with death: ere then They must have talked, and may perhaps have done, And made an end... GIACOMO: Listen! What sound is that? ORSINO: The house-dog moans, and the beams crack: nought else. GIACOMO: It is my wife complaining in her sleep: _80 I doubt not she is saying bitter things Of me; and all my children round her dreaming That I deny them sustenance. ORSINO: Whilst he Who truly took it from them, and who fills Their hungry rest with bitterness, now sleeps _85 Lapped in bad pleasures, and triumphantly Mocks thee in visions of successful hate Too like the truth of day. GIACOMO: If e'er he wakes Again, I will not trust to hireling hands... ORSINO: Why, that were well. I must be gone; good-night. _90 When next we meet--may all be done! NOTE: _91 may all be done! Giacomo: And all edition 1821; Giacomo: May all be done, and all edition 1819. GIACOMO: And all Forgotten: Oh, that I had never been! [EXEUNT.] END OF ACT 3. ACT 4. SCENE 4.1: AN APARTMENT IN THE CASTLE OF PETRELLA. ENTER CENCI. CENCI: She comes not; yet I left her even now Vanquished and faint. She knows the penalty Of her delay: yet what if threats are vain? Am I not now within Petrella's moat? Or fear I still the eyes and ears of Rome? _5 Might I not drag her by the golden hair? Stamp on her? keep her sleepless till her brain Be overworn? Tame her with chains and famine? Less would suffice. Yet so to leave undone What I most seek! No, 'tis her stubborn will _10 Which by its own consent shall stoop as low As that which drags it down. [ENTER LUCRETIA.] Thou loathed wretch! Hide thee from my abhorrence: fly, begone! Yet stay! Bid Beatrice come hither.