as I am true knight, I could weep like a ston’d horse.
And. Villain, ’tis thou hast murderèd my son!
Thy unrelenting spirit, thou black dog, 320
That took’st no passion[187] of his fatal love,
Hath forced him give his life untimely end.
Pier. O! that my life, her love, my dearest blood,
Would but redeem one minute of his breath!
Ant. [rising.] I seize that breath. Stand not amazed, great states;
I rise from death that never lived till now.
Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy
More unexpressèd height of happiness
Than power of thought can reach; if not, lo, here
There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage. 330
Most-wish’d spectators of my tragedy,
To this end have I feign’d, that her fair eye,
For whom I lived, might bless me ere I die.
Mel. Can breath depaint[188] my unconceivèd thoughts?
Can words describe my infinite delight
Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio?
O no; conceit, breath, passion, words, be dumb,
Whilst I instill the dew of my sweet bliss,
In the soft pressure of a melting kiss!
Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras. 340
Pier. Fair son (now I’ll be proud to call thee son),
Enjoy me thus: my very breast is thine;
Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.
Ant. Dear father——
And. Sweet son, sweet son, I can speak no more:
My joy’s passion flows above the shore,
And chokes the current of my speech.
Pier. Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg
For a remittance of your interest.
Gal. In your fair daughter? with all my thought. 350
So help me faith, the nak’d truth I’ll unfold;
He that was never[189] hot will soon be cold.