I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance up
From bursting forth in braggart passion.
Str. My lord, ’tis firmly said that——
Pier. Andrugio sleeps in peace: this brain hath choked
The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs
But as a bait upon the line of death,
To tice on mischief. I am great in blood,
Unequall’d in revenge. You horrid scouts
That sentinel swart night, give loud applause 20
From your large palms. First, know, my heart was rais’d
Unto Andrugio’s life upon this ground—
Str. Duke, ’tis reported——
Pier. We both were rivals in our may of blood,
Unto Maria, fair Ferrara’s heir.
He won the lady, to my honour’s death,
And from her sweets cropp’d this Antonio;
For which I burnt in inward swelt’ring hate,
And fester’d rankling malice in my breast,
Till I might belk revenge upon his eyes: 30
And now (O blessèd now!) ’tis done. Hell, night,
Give loud applause to my hypocrisy.
When his bright valour even dazzled sense,
In off’ring his own head, public reproach
Had blurr’d my name. Speak, Strotzo, had it not?
If then I had——
Str. It had, so please——
Pier. What had, so please? Unseasoned sycophant,
Piero Sforza is no numbèd lord,
Senseless of all true touch;[199] stroke not the head 40
Of infant speech, till it be fully born;
Go to!
Str. How now! Fut, I’ll not smother your speech.
Pier. Nay, right thine eyes: ’twas but a little spleen,—
(Huge plunge![200]
Sin’s grown a slave, and must observe slight evils;
Huge villains are enforced to claw[201] all devils.)—
Pish, sweet, thy thoughts, and give me——.
Str. Stroke not the head of infant speech! go to!