[She caresses him and offers him half of a peach.
ALFONSO.
Ay, half—
Half of a pleasure! I would have you all,
And always. If I am to stay in Rome
Is it to shun your brother up and down
The streets of Rome, so to escape temptation?
Even yesterday ... Lucrece, he concentrates
Such fury in me as I look on him
I shiver, and for hours, after long hours
I find myself still trembling.
LUCREZIA.
[With deep acquiescence.] Yes....
ALFONSO.
And you can suffer
That I should bear the insult of his carriage;
That is the wound: no flashing from your lips,
When I am injured, and no least regret
When you are summoned from me to confer
With His Holiness apart, or by his side
Parry the orators when they grow angry,
And growl from their chafed monarchs.
If to please you
I stay in Rome....
LUCREZIA.
[Laying her hands firmly over his.] You are too young, impatient,
To bear long audience of the orators.
[Twining her arm in his.] But come—why will you speak of yesterday
Or of to-morrow? It is midsummer:
Lucrezia is your own, Lucrezia
So blissful in your arms that, malcontent,
You sigh.