FIRST SOLDIER
I do not think that stout Hugh, as you call him, will do the business for him after all. This Guido is of gentle birth, and so by the law can drink poison first, if it so be his pleasure.
THIRD SOLDIER
And if he does not drink it?
FIRST SOLDIER
Why, then, they will kill him.
[Knocking comes at the door.]
FIRST SOLDIER
See who that is.
[Third Soldier goes over and looks through the wicket.]
THIRD SOLDIER
It is a woman, sir.
FIRST SOLDIER
Is she pretty?
THIRD SOLDIER
I can’t tell. She is masked, lieutenant.
FIRST SOLDIER
It is only very ugly or very beautiful women who ever hide their faces. Let her in.
[Soldier opens the door, and the DUCHESS masked and cloaked enters.]
DUCHESS
[to Third Soldier]
Are you the officer on guard?
FIRST SOLDIER
[coming forward]
I am, madam.
DUCHESS
I must see the prisoner alone.
FIRST SOLDIER
I am afraid that is impossible. [The DUCHESS hands him a ring, he looks at and returns it to her with a bow and makes a sign to the Soldiers.] Stand without there. [Exeunt the Soldiers.]
DUCHESS
Officer, your men are somewhat rough.
FIRST SOLDIER
They mean no harm.
DUCHESS
I shall be going back in a few minutes. As I pass through the corridor do not let them try and lift my mask.
FIRST SOLDIER
You need not be afraid, madam.
DUCHESS
I have a particular reason for wishing my face not to be seen.
FIRST SOLDIER
Madam, with this ring you can go in and out as you please; it is the Duchess’s own ring.
DUCHESS
Leave us. [The Soldier turns to go out.] A moment, sir. For what hour is …
FIRST SOLDIER
At twelve o’clock, madam, we have orders to lead him out; but I dare say he won’t wait for us; he’s more like to take a drink out of that poison yonder. Men are afraid of the headsman.
DUCHESS
Is that poison?
FIRST SOLDIER
Ay, madam, and very sure poison too.
DUCHESS
You may go, sir.
FIRST SOLDIER
By Saint James, a pretty hand! I wonder who she is. Some woman who loved him, perhaps. [Exit.]
DUCHESS
[taking her mark off] At last!
He can escape now in this cloak and vizard,
We are of a height almost: they will not know him;
As for myself what matter?
So that he does not curse me as he goes,
I care but little: I wonder will he curse me.
He has the right. It is eleven now;
They will not come till twelve.
[Goes over to the table.]
So this is poison.
Is it not strange that in this liquor here
There lies the key to all philosophies?
[Takes the cup up.]
It smells of poppies. I remember well
That, when I was a child in Sicily,
I took the scarlet poppies from the corn,
And made a little wreath, and my grave uncle,
Don John of Naples, laughed: I did not know
That they had power to stay the springs of life,
To make the pulse cease beating, and to chill
The blood in its own vessels, till men come
And with a hook hale the poor body out,
And throw it in a ditch: the body, ay, -
What of the soul? that goes to heaven or hell.
Where will mine go?
[Takes the torch from the wall, and goes over to the bed.]
How peacefully here he sleeps,
Like a young schoolboy tired out with play:
I would that I could sleep so peacefully,
But I have dreams. [Bending over him.]
Poor boy: what if I kissed him?
No, no, my lips would burn him like a fire.
He has had enough of Love. Still that white neck
Will ‘scape the headsman: I have seen to that:
He will get hence from Padua tonight,
And that is well. You are very wise, Lord Justices,
And yet you are not half so wise as I am,
And that is well.
O God! how I have loved you,
And what a bloody flower did Love bear!
[Comes back to the table.]
What if I drank these juices, and so ceased?
Were it not better than to wait till Death
Come to my bed with all his serving men,
Remorse, disease, old age, and misery?
I wonder does one suffer much: I think
That I am very young to die like this,
But so it must be. Why, why should I die?
He will escape tonight, and so his blood
Will not be on my head. No, I must die;
I have been guilty, therefore I must die;
He loves me not, and therefore I must die:
I would die happier if he would kiss me,
But he will not do that. I did not know him.
I thought he meant to sell me to the Judge;
That is not strange; we women never know
Our lovers till they leave us.
[Bell begins to toll]
Thou vile bell,
That like a bloodhound from thy brazen