But speak of her,
But give me leave to speak—perplexity
Is on us of her escort: we were bid
Accompany her as she were led to prison;
And in this Nepi that is hers we know
She is a captive—we would rescue her;
She is a victim—we would slay the tyrant.
Oh, she is like a girl, a younger sister,
Still shut up with her tutors, whose fair face
Climbs from a narrow casement, and spreads torture,
Cursing and disbelief through idle time.
What dwells within those plaits of saffron hair?
Speak, secretary, for all our patience ends.
CRISTOFERO.
It must not. Hers will never end. Her passions
Lie in a bed of patience.
DON FEDERICO.
In a sea
That overwhelms them!
CRISTOFERO.
No, in a bed of patience;
And there she fosters them. She will not die.
DON FEDERICO.
Will she be wed again, again revive
As the seasons alternate from cold to hot,
With a great patience till the years be spent?