Moro. In blindness still!
For Vittia Pisani, who alone
Seems with these twain to share this mystery
Is silent to all importunity.
Oh, Berengere Lusignan!—
But, 'tis mine
To pray and to prepare. (Listens.) The acolytes.
[Two enter, sleek, sanctimonious.
(To Them.) Come here.... You're Serlio,
Of the Ascension. You?
2nd Acolyte. Hilarion.
From Santa Maria by the Templars' well,
Which God looks on with gratitude, father.
For though we're poor and are unworthy servants
We've given willingly our widow's mite.
And now we....
Moro. You are summoned to this place
For ministrations other than the tongue's.
Prepare that altar—masses for the dead.
Hilarion. Man is as grass that withers!
Moro. Kindle all
Its tapers. The departed will be borne
Hither for holy care and sacred rest.
So do—then after
Look to that image of the Magdalen,
Once it has fallen.
Serlio. Domine, dirige!
[Moro goes. They put off cant and set to work.
Hilarion (insolently, lighting a taper).
We'll have good wine for this!