GIACOMO:
I knew Olimpio; and they say he hated
Old Cenci so, that in his silent rage
His lips grew white only to see him pass.
Of Marzio I know nothing.
ORSINO:
Marzio’s hate _70
Matches Olimpio’s. I have sent these men,
But in your name, and as at your request,
To talk with Beatrice and Lucretia.
GIACOMO:
Only to talk?
ORSINO:
The moments which even now
Pass onward to to-morrow’s midnight hour _75
May memorize their flight with death: ere then
They must have talked, and may perhaps have done,
And made an end…
GIACOMO:
Listen! What sound is that?
ORSINO:
The house-dog moans, and the beams crack: nought else.
GIACOMO:
It is my wife complaining in her sleep: _80
I doubt not she is saying bitter things
Of me; and all my children round her dreaming
That I deny them sustenance.
ORSINO:
Whilst he
Who truly took it from them, and who fills
Their hungry rest with bitterness, now sleeps _85
Lapped in bad pleasures, and triumphantly
Mocks thee in visions of successful hate
Too like the truth of day.
GIACOMO:
If e’er he wakes
Again, I will not trust to hireling hands…
ORSINO:
Why, that were well. I must be gone; good-night. _90
When next we meet—may all be done!