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An Apartment in ORSINO’S Palace. | |
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Enter ORSINO and GIACOMO | |
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| Giacomo. Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end? | |
| O, that the vain remorse which must chastise | |
| Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn | 5 |
| As its keen sting is mortal to avenge! | |
| O, that the hour when present had cast off | |
| The mantle of its mystery, and shown | |
| The ghastly form with which it now returns | |
| When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds | 10 |
| Of conscience to their prey! Alas! Alas! | |
| It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed, | |
| To kill an old and hoary-headed father. | |
| Orsino. It has turned out unluckily, in truth. | |
| Giacomo. To violate the sacred doors of sleep; | 15 |
| To cheat kind nature of the placid death | |
| Which she prepares for overwearied age; | |
| To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul | |
| Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers | |
| A life of burning crimes… | 20 |
| Orsino. You cannot say | |
| I urged you to the deed. | |
| Giacomo. O, had I never | |
| Found in thy smooth and ready countenance | |
| The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou | 25 |
| Never with hints and questions made me look | |
| Upon the monster of my thought, until | |
| It grew familiar to desire… | |
| Orsino. ’Tis thus | |
| Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts | 30 |
| Upon the abettors of their own resolve; | |
| Or anything but their weak, guilty selves. | |
| And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril | |
| In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness | |
| Of penitence; confess ’tis fear disguised | 35 |
| From its own shame that takes the mantle now | |
| Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe? | |
| Giacomo. How can that be? Already Beatrice, | |
| Lucretia and the murderer are in prison. | |
| I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, | 40 |
| Sent to arrest us. | |
| Orsino. I have all prepared. | |
| For instant flight. We can escape even now, | |
| So we take fleet occasion by the hair. | |
| Giacomo. Rather expire in tortures, as I may. | 45 |
| What! will you cast by self-accusing flight | |
| Assured conviction upon Beatrice? | |
| She, who alone in this unnatural work, | |
| Stands like God’s angel ministered upon | |
| By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong | 50 |
| As turns black parricide to piety; | |
| Whilst we for basest ends … I fear, Orsino, | |
| While I consider all your words and looks, | |
| Comparing them with your proposal now, | |
| That you must be a villain. For what end | 55 |
| Could you engage in such a perilous crime, | |
| Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles, | |
| Even to this gulf? Thou art no liar? No, | |
| Thou art a lie! Traitor and murderer! | |
| Coward and slave! But, no, defend thyself; [Drawing. | 60 |
| Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue | |
| Disdains to brand thee with. | |
| Orsino. Put up your weapon. | |
| Is it the desperation of your fear | |
| Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend, | 65 |
| Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger | |
| Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed | |
| Was but to try you. As for me, I think, | |
| Thankless affection led me to this point, | |
| From which, if my firm temper could repent, | 70 |
| I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak | |
| The ministers of justice wait below: | |
| They grant me these brief moments. Now if you | |
| Have any word of melancholy comfort | |
| To speak to your pale wife, ’twere best to pass | 75 |
| Out at the postern, and avoid them so. | |
| Giacomo. O, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me? | |
| Would that my life could purchase thine! | |
| Orsino. That wish | |
| Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well! | 80 |
| Hear’st thou not steps along the corridor? [Exit GIACOMO. | |
| I’m sorry for it; but the guards are waiting | |
| At his own gate, and such was my contrivance | |
| That I might rid me both of him and them. | |
| I thought to act a solemn comedy | 85 |
| Upon the painted scene of this new world, | |
| And to attain my own peculiar ends | |
| By some such plot of mingled good and ill | |
| As other weave; but there arose a Power | |
| Which graspt and snapped the threads of my device | 90 |
| And turned it to a net of ruin … Ha! [A shout is heard. | |
| Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad? | |
| But I will pass, wrapt in a vile disguise; | |
| Rags on my back, and a false innocence | |
| Upon my face, thro’ the misdeeming crowd | 95 |
| Which judges by what seems. ’Tis easy then | |
| For a new name and for a country new, | |
| And a new life, fashioned on old desires, | |
| To change the honours of abandoned Rome. | |
| And these must be the masks of that within, | 100 |
| Which must remain unaltered … Oh, I fear | |
| That what is past will never let me rest! | |
| Why, when none else is conscious, but myself, | |
| Of my misdeeds, should my own heart’s contempt | |
| Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly | 105 |
| My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave | |
| Of … what? A word? which those of this false world | |
| Employ against each other, not themselves; | |
| As men wear daggers not for self-offence. | |
| But if I am mistaken, where shall I | 110 |
| Find the disguise to hide me from myself, | |
| As now I skulk from every other eye? [Exit. | |
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