Good Poto,
Take Messer Pincione to the jailer
Who keeps the Tower. [To Pincione.] To-night, after the play,
“Epidicus”—I cannot miss the play,
Not for the quick or dead, and lenience,
Some lenience we should give to sluggish nature—
To-night I will receive you privately.
Well, Messer Pincione, will you stand
Till doomsday with your little heap
Of cruel pearls?
A VOICE.
[Outside.] A gift for Holy Father!
BURCHARD’S VOICE.
No, boy, go back!
The chamber is deep-secret. On the pain
Of death, go back.
ALEXANDER.
A gift!
Gifts are warm faggots on the winter coldness.
A gift! We will receive it.
Poto, hasten!
Take Messer Pincione to the Tower—
From the Duke Cesare. [Exit Poto with Pincione.
’Twere merciful!
Queen Cleopatra drank the like for glory,
As this Orsini for his body’s ease....
The cold! How sudden is my age
Upon me as a drift! By all the devils,
I might be turned to stone!
Enter Monsignore Burchard with a Boy.
Sa, sa! My present! Hither!
Anticipation has a zest.... God’s rattle,
I am astounded—
This lightsome whiteness! The Orsini pearl,
The well-beloved, the whitest light of pearls,
The sun-confronting rainbows, moist and purple!
Boy, did you steal it?