My lord Ippolito,
Your words with admirable beauty heighten
The preciousness of this most precious gift.
[Cardinal Ippolito and the Ferrarese Treasurer open the coffer.
Ha! The lips suck, and even upon the palate
These sparkles dance and twang. Oh, marvellous!
Inert we call this body, yet it seeks
The corners of the chamber as with song;
A voice strikes on our fibres. Cesare,
These rubies.... You are poor!
Collars! Who would not
Be captive to these links?
[Putting one on.] See, on the breast
This great rock-sapphire sullen!
Pearls—the pearls! the pearls!
Soft—ah, but soft. I smile, as old Tithonus
At the rainbow-paps of Dawn. This ring, a woman’s,
Can sit on my first joint to pipe its tale
Of shepherds in the showery grass. What joyance,
Heartiness as from cordial-glasses, drunk
By eyes and touch and spirit, in this treasure!
My lord, my lord!
You set resplendent eyes upon the Bride.
Ah, lord Ippolito! Serenely
She gives their posts of beauty to these jewels;
For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
For her they strike and bleed, herself they honour,
Their chief ally your gaze.
[The Princes of Ferrara and the Cardinals make their presentations.
Gifts, gifts—more gifts!
The Church, the World munificent.
[Lucrezia smiles and thanks the Princes and Cardinals
with deep inclinations.
Burcardus,
Remove the magic table; in its room
We too must weave our magic.
Bring the sweetmeats!
A shower of pleasant hail in these warm bosoms;
Not golden rain of Jove, but feastful sugar....
[He throws confetti into the bodices of the ladies. Donna Giulia Farnese and some of the fairer among them pelt him back.
LUCREZIA.
[Softly sucking a sweetmeat.] My lord Ippolito, this crucifix,
And this, and this—your gifts ... they will know my hand
Close as the nuptial ring.