Oh yes! we met within
The garden that adjoins the Spaniard’s palace—
That fatal palace!—and he came, to murder
My Foscarini—sought him where he fled;
Sought him, and found him! Then his malice wrought
That horrid tale which has deceived you all,
Of crime, and treason, and conspiracy;—
Ye know it now—it blanches you with fear—
You—to whom blood’s no stranger! Can you wonder
It maddens me?