To hands, my mouth to your hot mouth, and shook All my locks loose, and covered you with them – You, Sebald, the same you! Seb. Slower, Ottima ! Otti. And as we lay Seb. Less vehemently! Love me ! Forgive me! take not words, mere words, to heart! Your breath is worse than wine. Breathe slow, speak slow! Do not lean on me! Otti. Sebald, as we lay, Rising and falling only with our pants, Who said, "Let death come now ! 'tis right to die! Right to be punished! nought completes such bliss But woe!" Who said that? Seb. How did we ever rise? Was't that we slept? Why did it end? Otti. Tapering into a point the ruffled ends I felt you Of my loose locks 'twixt both your humid lips(My hair is fallen now: knot it again!) Seb. I kiss you now, dear Ottima, now, and now! This way? Will you forgive me—be once more My great queen? Otti. Bind it thrice about my brow! Crown me your queen, your spirit's arbitress, Magnificent in sin. Say that ! Seb. I crown you My great white queen, my spirit's arbitress, Magnificent (From without is heard the voice of PIPPA, singing) The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Otti. Oh-that little ragged girl! She must have rested on the step: we give them Sh! Leave me ! Go, get your clothes on-dress those shoulders! Seb. Wipe off that paint. I hate you! Sebald? Miserable! Seb. My God! and she is emptied of it now! All of the grace-had she not strange grace once? Otti. Speak to me-speak not of me! Seb. That round great full-orbed face, where not an angle Broke the delicious indolence-all broken! Otti. To me-not of me!-ungrateful, perjured cheat ! A coward, too: but ingrate's worse than all ! Seb. She would succeed in her absurd attempt, Nature, or trick! I see what I have done, To think Such torments-let the world take credit thence- I hate, hate-curse you ! God's in His heaven! Me! no, no, Sebald-not yourself kill me! -Me! Yourself-then-presently-first hear me speak— Lean on my breast-not as a breast; don't love me Heart's Sebald! There-there-both deaths presently! Seb. My brain is drowned now-quite drowned: all I feel Is is at swift-recurring intervals, A hurrying-down within me, as of waters From KING VICTOR and KING CHARLES. VICTOR AMADEUS, KING OF SARDINIA, HAVING ABDICATED IN FAVOUR OF HIS SON, CHARLES EMANUEL, DETERMINES, ON THE SUBSIDENCE OF THE POLITICAL DANGERS WHICH SUGGESTED THAT STEP, TO RESUME HIS DIGNITY, IN RELIANCE UPON THE DUTY OF HIS SON, THE INSIGNIFICANCY OF HIS DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, AND THE OBSEQUIOUSNESS OF HIS OLD MINISTER D'ORMEA. FOR THIS PURPOSE HE PROCEEDS TO RIVOLI PALACE, NEAR TURIN, DURING THE PRESUMED ABSENCE OF THE NEW KING. Vic. Sure I heard voices? No! Well, I do best To make at once for this, the heart o' the place. The old room! Nothing changed! So near my seat, D'Ormea? [Pushing away the stool which is by the KING'S chair. I want that meeting over first, I know not why. Tush, D'Ormea won't be slow To hearten me, the supple knave! That burst What? Why come I hither? All's in rough; let all Of error-reason good, to interpose And save, as I have saved so many times, This kind of step is pitiful, not due 'Faith, To Charles, this stealing back-hither, because Is loathsome; youth contrives to carry oft But one's old age, when graces drop away And leave guile the pure staple of our lives— Not so or why pause I ? Turin Is mine to have, were I so minded, for The asking; all the army's mine-I've witnessed I'd take the crown. No! Just this step to rise |