Why look you, Madam, you are here alone; ’Tis many a dusty league to your grey France, And even there your father barely keeps A hundred ragged squires for his Court. What hope have you, I say? Which of these lords And noble gentlemen of Padua Stands by your side. DUCHESS There is not one. [GUIDO _starts_, _but restrains himself_.] DUKE Nor shall be, While I am Duke in Padua: listen, Madam, Being mine own, you shall do as I will, And if it be my will you keep the house, Why then, this palace shall your prison be; And if it be my will you walk abroad, Why, you shall take the air from morn to night. DUCHESS Sir, by what right—? DUKE Madam, my second Duchess Asked the same question once: her monument Lies in the chapel of Bartholomew, Wrought in red marble; very beautiful. Guido, your arm. Come, gentlemen, let us go And spur our falcons for the mid-day chase. Bethink you, Madam, you are here alone. [_Exit the_ DUKE _leaning on_ GUIDO, _with his Court_.] DUCHESS [_looking after them_] 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? GUIDO I can endure no longer. This is my love, and I will speak to her. Lady, am I a stranger to your prayers? DUCHESS [_rising_] None but the wretched needs my prayers, my lord. GUIDO Then must I need them, lady. DUCHESS How is that? Does not the Duke show thee sufficient honour? GUIDO 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. DUCHESS Alas! I am so fallen in estate I can but give thee a poor meed of thanks. GUIDO [_seizing her hand_]