O thou eternal heaven! If there is aught of nature in my soul, Of gentle pity, or fond kindliness, Wither it up, blast it, bring it to nothing, Or if thou wilt not, then will I myself Cut pity with a sharp knife from my heart And strangle mercy in her sleep at night Lest she speak to me. Vengeance there I have it. Be thou my comrade and my bedfellow, Sit by my side, ride to the chase with me, When I am weary sing me pretty songs, When I am light o’ heart, make jest with me, And when I dream, whisper into my ear The dreadful secret of a father’s murder— Did I say murder? [_Draws his dagger_.] Listen, thou terrible God! Thou God that punishest all broken oaths, And bid some angel write this oath in fire, That from this hour, till my dear father’s murder In blood I have revenged, I do forswear The noble ties of honourable friendship, The noble joys of dear companionship, Affection’s bonds, and loyal gratitude, Ay, more, from this same hour I do forswear All love of women, and the barren thing Which men call beauty— [_The organ peals in the Cathedral_, _and under a canopy of cloth of silver tissue_, _borne by four pages in scarlet_, _the_ DUCHESS OF PADUA _comes down the steps_; _as she passes across their eyes meet for a moment_, _and as she leaves the stage she looks back at_ GUIDO, _and the dagger falls from his hand_.] Oh! who is that? A CITIZEN The Duchess of Padua! * * * * * END OF ACT I. * * * * * ACT II SCENE _A state room in the Ducal Palace_, _hung with tapestries representing the Masque of Venus_; _a large door in the centre opens into a corridor of red marble_, _through which one can see a view of Padua_; _a large canopy is set_ (_R.C._) _with three thrones_, _one a little lower than the others_; _the ceiling is made of long gilded beams_; _furniture of the period_, _chairs covered with gilt leather_, _and buffets set with gold and silver plate_, _and chests painted with mythological scenes_. _A number of the courtiers is out on the corridor looking from it down into the street below_; _from the street comes the roar of a mob and cries of_ ‘_Death to the Duke_’: _after a little interval enter the Duke very calmly_; _he is leaning on the arm of Guido Ferranti_; _with him enters also the Lord Cardinal_; _the mob still shouting_. DUKE No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her! Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good. MAFFIO [_excitedly_] Your Grace, there are two thousand people there Who every moment grow more clamorous. DUKE Tut, man, they waste their strength upon their lungs! People who shout so loud, my lords, do nothing; The only men I fear are silent men. [_A yell from the people_.] You see, Lord Cardinal, how my people love me.