DRAMATIS PERSONÆ FRANCESCO SFORZA—A Condottiero of the 14th century, afterwards Duke of Milan BRUNORIO—His Lieutenant SARPELLIONE—Ambassador at Milan from Alfonso, king of Naples ROSSANO—A Milanese Captain, formerly companion in arms to Sforza PASQUALI—A whimsical Poet BIANCA VISCONTI—Daughter of Philip Visconti, the bed-ridden Duke of Milan, and heiress-apparent to the crown GIULIO—Her Page, afterwards discovered to be her brother and heir to the crown FIAMETTA—Waiting Woman to Bianca, and partial to Pasquali Lords of Council, Priest, Messengers, Sentinels, &c. ACT I SCENE 1. PASQUALI @3the poet's chamber.@1 FIAMETTA @3mending his hose while he writes.@1 FIAMETTA. Why dost thou never write verses upon me? PASQUALI. Didst thou ever hear of a cauliflower struck by lightning? FIAMETTA. If there were honesty in verses, thou wouldst sooner write of me than of Minerva thou talkst of. Did she ever mend thy hose for thee? PASQUALI. There is good reason to doubt if Minerva ever had hose on her leg. FIAMETTA. There now! She can be no honest woman! I thought so when thou saidst she was most willing at night. PASQUALI. If thy ignorance were not endless, I would instruct thee in the meani ngs of poetry. But thou'lt call Jupiter a cow driver, till the thunderbolt thou takest for a bunch of twigs, strike thee dead for profanity. This once understand: Minerva is no @3woman,@1 but @3wit;@1 and when the poet speaks of unwilling Minerva, he talks of sluggish wit—that hath nothing to do with chastity. FIAMETTA. Are there two names for all things, then, Master Pasquali? PASQUALI. Ay—nearly. FIAMETTA. What is the learned name for honest wife? PASQUALI. Spouse. FIAMETTA. When shall I be thy spouse, then? PASQUALI. When thou canst make up thy mind to forego all hope of living in poetry. FIAMETTA. Nay, if I am not to be put in verse, I may as well have a plain man f or a husband. PASQUALI. If thou wouldst be put in verse, thou shalt have no husband at all. FIAMETTA. Now, wilt thou tell me why—in good common words, Master Pasquali. PASQUALI. Thus:—dost thou think Petrarch had e'er made Laura so famous if she had been honestly his wife? FIAMETTA. An she were thrifty, I think he might. PASQUALI. I tell thee no! His sonnets had then been as dull as the praises of the just. No man would remember them. FIAMETTA. Can no honest women be famous, then? PASQUALI. Virtue disqualifies. There is no hope for her in poetry if she be not a sinner. Mention me the most famous woman in history. FIAMETTA. Helen of Troy, in the ballad, I think. PASQUALI. Wouldst thou be more virtuous than she? FIAMETTA. Nay, that were presumption. PASQUALI. Knowest thou why she is sung in an Iliad? I will tell thee: being the wife to Menelaus, she ran away with the prince of Troy. FIAMETTA. Then is it a shame to remember her. PASQUALI. So thou sayest in thy ignorance. Yet for that sin she hath been remem bered near three thousand years. Look through all poetry, and thou'lt find it thrives upon making sinners memorable. To be famous, thou must sin. Wilt thou q ualify? [@3A rap at the door.@1] PAGE. Master Pasquali! Master Pasquali! FIAMETTA. Holy Virgin! it is my mistress's page. An I be found here now, I were as qualified as Helen of Troy. [@3She conceals herself. Enter the@1 PAGE.] PASQUALI. How now, Master Giulio? Thou'rt impatient. PAGE. Zounds, Pasquali! If thou hadst been a prince, I had not been kept longer at the door. PASQUALI. If thou wert of age to relish true philosophy, I could prove to thee that the poet were the better waited for of the two. But what is thy errand? PAGE. A song—I want a new song! PASQUALI. To what tune? PAGE. To a new tune on the old theme. Could I tell thee a secret without danger now! Hast thou ne'er a cat that will mew it out? PASQUALI. No! not even a wall that has ears. What is thy news? PAGE. My mistress Bianca hath lost all taste for my singing! PASQUALI. A pin's head might pay for that news. PAGE. But, good Pasquali, wilt thou not write me a new song? PASQUALI. Upon what theme? PAGE. Sforza—still Sforza! But it must be melancholy. PASQUALI. Why melancholy? PAGE. Did I not tell thee once in confidence that she loved him? PASQUALI. Ay—and I writ a song in his praise. PAGE. I now tell thee in confidence that she hath lost him; for she is to marry Lionel of Ferrara! PASQUALI. Here's news indeed! PAGE. It's the duke's will, and my lady is grieved to the degree I tell thee. She'll have none of my music. Wilt thou write me the song? PASQUALI. Must it be mournful, say you? PAGE. Ay—as the jug-jug of her nightingale. She's full of tears. Wilt thou write it now? Shall I hold the ink while thou writest it? PASQUALI. Bless the boy's wits! Dost thou think songs are made like pancakes, by turning the hand over? PAGE. Why, is't not in thy head? PASQUALI. Ay—it is. PAGE. And how long will it take thee to write eight lines upon parchment? PASQUALI. Not long—if Minerva were willing. PAGE. Shall I have it by vespers, then? PASQUALI. Ay—if thou wilt leave me presently. PAGE. Farewell, then! Let it be melancholy, good Pasquali. [@3Exit.@1 [FIAMETTA @3comes out.@1] FIAMETTA. Now must I hurry to my mistress, ere that monkey-page gets to the palace. PASQUALI. Stands he well with her? FIAMETTA. If he were her born child, she could not love him more. She fancies the puppy-dog has an eye of her color. Good day, Master Pasquali. PASQUALI. Stay! will she marry this Lionel, think you? FIAMETTA. Can you know anything by tears? PASQUALI. Not so much by a woman's—but doth your lady weep? FIAMETTA. Ay—like an aqueduct! PASQUALI. Then it's more like she loves than hates him! FIAMETTA. Now, enlighten me that! PASQUALI. Thus:—a woman, if she be a lady (for clowns like thee, are of a constitution more dull and reasonable), a lady, I say, hath usually in her composition, two spirits—one angelical, the other diabolical. Now, if you stir me up the devil, he will frown—but if you touch me the angel, he will weep! If your lady weep, therefore, it is more like this match hath waked the angel than stirred the devil—for I never saw woman yet, who, if her heart were crossed, would not play the devil ere she knocked under! FIAMETTA. How canst thou think such brave thoughts on what does not concern thee! PASQUALI. Does it concern me if I shall live for ever? FIAMETTA. Surely it doth! PASQUALI. By what shall I live, then? FIAMETTA. By faith in the catechism, I think! PASQUALI. By poetry, I tell thee! And now digest this paradox! Though poetry be full of lies, it is unworthy to be called poetry if it be not true as prophecy. FIAMETTA. But how can that be true which is false? PASQUALI. I will show thee! Thy lady's page would have a song, now, full of lamentation for Sforza. In it, I should say, the heavens wept—(which would be a lie)—that the winds wh ispered mournfully his name (which would be a lie), and that life without him were but music out of tune (which would be a consumed lie)! Yet if she loved Sforza, see you not that my verses, which are nothing but lies, have a poetic truth? When if she love him not—they are poetically false! FIAMETTA. 'Tis like thy flatteries, then! When thou sayest my cheek is like a p each, it is true, because it hath down upon it, and so hath a peach—yet it is false—because my cheek hath no stone in it! PASQUALI. Let me taste the savor of that peach. Thou art wiser than I thought thee. FIAMETTA. I must go now. PASQUALI. Find me out if she love him! I would fain write no more verses on Sforza—whom I hate that he hath only a brute courage, and no taste for poesy. Now, Lionel's father was Petrarch's friend, and thy lady loving my verses, it were more convenient if sh e loved Lionel, who would love them, too. Go thy ways now. FIAMETTA. Farewell, Master Pasquali! PASQUALI. Stay—there be rude men in this poor quarter, I will come with thee to the piazza. Come along, mistress! SCENE 2. @3The Camp before Milan. The tent of@1 SFORZA @3at the side and watch-fires in the distance. Enter@1 SFORZA @3and@1 BRUNORIO SFORZA. Is the guard set? BRUNORIO. All set, my lord! SFORZA. And blaze The watch-fires where I ordered? BRUNORIO. Every one. Hold you your purpose, sir? SFORZA. Tonight, at twelve, I will set on! This fickle Duke of Milan Has changed for the last time. Brunorio! BRUNORIO. You seem disturbed, sir. SFORZA. I would have tonight The best blood up that ever rose for Sforza. Are your spears resolute? BRUNORIO. As yourself, my lord! SFORZA. We'll sleep in Milan, then. By Heaven! I know not Why I have waited on the changing pleasure Of this old duke so long. BRUNORIO. Twelve years ago He promised you his daughter. SFORZA. Did he not? And every year he has renewed and broken This promise of alliance. BRUNORIO. Can you hold Milan against the Florentine, my lord? 'Tis said the fair Bianca is betrothed To their ally Ferrara! They will join Naples against you, and cry out "usurper!" SFORZA. Ay—I have thought on't. I'm the @3second@1 Sforza! The @3first@1 hewed wood! @3There@1 lies enough to bar me, Were I another Cæsar, from authority! 'Tis by this whip I have been driven so long— 'Tis by the bait of this old man's alliance I have for ten years fought the wars of Milan. They've fooled me year by year, and still found means With their cursed policy, to put me off— And, by the saints, they've reason. Could I point The world to such a thread 'twixt me and Milan As weaves a spider through the summer air, I'd hang a crown upon it. Once possessed Of a fair seat in Lombardy, my spears Would glisten in St. Mark's! BRUNORIO. And thence to Naples! SFORZA. Ay—with what speed we might! My brave lieutenant, You echo my own thought! @3Enter a@1 SENTINEL SENTINEL. A flag of truce By torch-light comes from Milan. @3Enter@1 SARPELLIONE, @3in haste@1 SARPELLIONE. Noble Sforza! I've rudely used my privilege to seek you! SFORZA. By right of office you are ever welcome. SARPELLIONE. If I might speak to you a timely word In haste and privacy? SFORZA. Brunorio, leave us! SARPELLIONE. A flag of truce comes presently from Milan With terms of peace. The duke would give his daughter To save his capital. SFORZA. The duke does well! SARPELLIONE. You'll wed her then! SFORZA. If fairly offered me, Free of all other terms save peace between us, I'll wed her freely. SARPELLIONE. Then I pray you pardon! You're not the Sforza that should be the son Of him who made the name! SFORZA. Bold words, ambassador! But you are politic, and speak advisedly. What bars my marriage with Duke Philip's daughter? SARPELLIONE. Brief—for this herald treads upon my heels— Bianca was not born in wedlock! SFORZA. Well! SARPELLIONE. She's been betrothed to other suitors— SFORZA. Well! SARPELLIONE. Is't well that you can ne'er through her inherit The ducal crown? Is't well to have a wife Who has made up her mind to other husbands— Who has been sold to every paltry prince Twixt Sicily and Venice? SFORZA. Is that all? SARPELLIONE. No—nor the best of it. @3There lives a son, By the same mother, to the Duke of Milan.@1 SFORZA [@3seizing him by the arm@1]. Said you a son? SARPELLIONE. A son!—and—had I time— SFORZA. Without there! Pray the embassy from Milan To grant me but a moment. [@3Turning to@1 SARPELLIONE.] Is it sure? SARPELLIONE. Upon the honor of my royal master, Who'll make it good. SFORZA. Have you authority For what you say? SARPELLIONE. In court or camp, Alfonso Will prove this story true. His mother fled, As the world knows—in peril of her life— To Naples. SFORZA. From the jealousy of the duke— I well remember. SARPELLIONE. Ere he could demand her From young Alfonso, newly king, she died; But in her throes brought prematurely forth A son; whom, fearing for his life, she hid, And reared him, ever like a prince, till now. SFORZA. Some fourteen years. SARPELLIONE. Scarce that—but he is forward, And feels his blood already. SFORZA. Say he does— What make you out of it to change my purpose? SARPELLIONE. Seeing you cannot thrive by conquering Milan, Which Milan's allies will pluck back from you To put the prince upon his father's seat— My royal master wishes you forewarned. SFORZA. He's kind—if that is all! SARPELLIONE. He'd make a friend Of the best sword in Italy. SFORZA. What scheme Lies under this? SARPELLIONE. No scheme—but your own glory! Your star stoops to the south. Alfonso's army Gathers at Capua to war on Florence! [@3More earnestly.@1] He'll add Ravenna to your marquisate For but a thousand spears! SFORZA. I'll take Ravenna Without his leave! Admit the herald there! No, Count! your policy has overshot! The King Alfonso needs no spears of mine— @3But he would have them farther off from Milan—@1 A blind mole would see that! SARPELLIONE. My lord! My lord! SFORZA. Hear me, Sarpellione! I have been Too long the sport of your fine policy, With promises of power and fair alliance I've fought for every prince in Italy— And @3against@1 all, in turn; now leagued with Venice To beat back Florence from the Brenta; now With Florence against Milan; then with Milan To drive the Tuscan home again, and all For my @3own glory,@1 by some politic reason. I'll have a place, or I'll be in the track on't— Where the poor honor that my hand may pluck Shall be well garnered. By Visconti's daughter I set my foot in Milan. My poor laurels, Such as they are, shall root there!--and, by Heaven, I'll find a way to make their branches flourish! Call in the herald, there! SARPELLIONE. But Lionel, Prince of Ferrara, whom Bianca loves— SFORZA. Glory has been my mistress many years And will suffice me still. If it should chance Bianca loves another, 'tis an evil To wed with @3me,@1 which I will recompense With chainless freedom after. In my glory She'll find a bright veil that will hide all errors, Save from the heart that pardons her. SARPELLIONE. Farewell! You'll hear o' the young prince soon! SFORZA. I'll never wrong him— If there be one!—Our stars will rise together! There's room enough! [@3Exit@1 SARPELLIONE @3and enter@1 ROSSANO. Fair welcome, brave Rossano! I know your news. ROSSANO. The duke sends greeting to you— SFORZA. And offers me his daughter—is't not so? ROSSANO. Seeing your preparations as I came I marvel you anticipate so well! SFORZA. A bird i' the air brings news, they say—but this Came by a serpent. How's the spear-wound now, You took for me at Pisa? Brave Rossano! We'll break a lance once more in company. It warms my blood to find myself again Of the same side. Come out in the open air! We'll talk more freely, as we used to do, Over a watch-fire. Come out, old comrade! [@3Exeunt@1 SFORZA @3and@1 ROSSANO. SCENE 3. @3The apartment of@1 BIANCA. FIAMETTA @3embroidering, and the@1 PAGE @3thrumming his guitar.@1 PAGE. I'd give my greyhound now—gold collar and silken leash—to know why the duke sent for my lady. FIAMETTA. @3Would@1 you, Master Curiosity? PAGE. Mistress Pert, I would—and thy acquaintance into the bargain. FIAMETTA. Better keep the goods you come honestly by. I would you knew as well how your mistress came by @3you.@1 PAGE. I came to her from heaven—like her taste for my music. [@3Hums a tun e.@1] FIAMETTA. @3Did@1 you! do they make sacks in heaven? PAGE. There's a waiting woman's question for you! Why sacks? FIAMETTA. Because I think you came in one, like a present of a puppy-dog. PAGE. Silence, dull pin-woman! here comes my mistress! [@3Takes off his cap as@1 BIANCA @3enters. She walks across the stage without heeding her attendants.@1] BIANCA. To marry Sforza! My dream come true! my long, long cherished dream! The star come out of heaven that I had worshipped! The paradise I built with soaring fancy And filled with rapture like a honey-bee Dropped from the clouds at last! Am I awake?— Am I awake, dear Giulio? PAGE [@3half advancing to her@1]. Noble mistress! BIANCA. Thank God, they speak to me! It is no dream! It was @3this@1 hand my father took to tell me— It was with @3these@1 lips that I tried to speak— It was @3this@1 heart that beat its giddy prison As if the exulting joy new-sprung within it Would out and fill the world! ..... ........ Wed him tomorrow! So suddenly a wife! Will it seem modest, With but twelve hours of giddy preparation To come a bride to church! Will he remember I was ten years ago affianced to him? I have had time to think on't! Oh, I'll tell him— When I dare speak, I'll tell him—how I've loved him! And day and night dreamed of him, and through all The changing wars treasured the solemn troth Broke by my father! If he listens kindly, I'll tell him how I fed my eyes upon him In Venice at his triumph—when he walked Like a descended god beside the Doge, Who thanked him for his victories, and the people, From every roof and balcony, by thousands Shouted out "Sforza! Live the gallant Sforza!" I was a child then—but I felt my heart Grow, in one hour, to woman! PAGE. Would it please you To hear my new song, lady? BIANCA. No, good Giulio! My spirits are too troubled now for music. Get thee to bed! Yet stay! hast heard the news? PAGE. Is't from the camp? BIANCA. Ay—Sforza's taken prisoner! PAGE. I'm vexed for that. BIANCA. Why vexed? PAGE. In four years more I shall bear sword and lance. There'll be no Sforza To kill when I'm a man! Who took him, lady? BIANCA. A blind boy, scarcely bigger than yourself; And gave him, bound, to me! In brief, dear Giulio! Not to perplex those winking eyelids more, The wars are done, and Sforza weds tomorrow Your happy mistress! PAGE. Sforza! We shall have A bonfire, then! BIANCA. Ay—twenty! PAGE. And you'll live Here in the palace, and have masks and gambols The year round, will you not? BIANCA. My pretty minion, You know not yet what love is! Love's a miser, That plucks his treasure from the prying world And grudges e'en the eye of daylight on it! Another's look is theft—another's touch Robs it of all its value. Love conceives No paradise but such as Eden was With @3two@1 hearts beating in it. [@3Leaves the@1 PAGE @3and walks thoughtfully away.@1] Oh, I'll build A home upon some green and flowery isle In the lone lakes, where we will use our empire Only to keep away the gazing world. The purple mountains and the glassy waters Shall make a hushed pavilion with the sky, And we two in the midst will live alone, Counting the hours by stars and waking birds, And jealous but of sleep! To bed, dear Giulio! And wake betimes. PAGE. Good night, my dearest lady! BIANCA. To bed, Fiametta! I have busy thoughts, That needs will keep me waking. FIAMETTA. Good night, lady. BIANCA. Good night, good night! The moon has fellowship For moods like mine. I'll forth upon the terrace, And watch her while my heart beats warm and fast. ACT II SCENE 1. @3The square of Milan. The front of the cathedral on the right. People kneeling round the steps, and the organ heard within. Enter@1 PASQUALI @3and@1 FIAMETTA @3in haste@1 FIAMETTA. Now, Master Pasquali! said I not we should be too late? PASQUALI. Truly, there seems no room! FIAMETTA. And I her first serving-woman! If it were my own wedding I should not grieve more to have missed it. You would keep scribbling, scribbling , and I knew it was past twelve. PASQUALI. Consider, Mistress Fiametta! I had no news of this marriage till the chimes began; and the epithalamium must be writ! I were shamed else, being the bard of Milan. FIAMETTA. The what, of Milan? PASQUALI. The bard, I say! Come aside, and thou shalt be consoled. I'll read the my epithalamium. FIAMETTA. Is it something to ask money of the bridegroom? PASQUALI. Dost thou think I would beg? FIAMETTA. Nay, thou'rt very poor! PASQUALI. Look thee, Mistress Fiametta! that's a vulgar error, thou hadst best be rid of. I, whom thou callest poor, am richer than the duke. FIAMETTA. Now if thou'rt not out of thy ten senses, the Virgin bless us. PASQUALI. I'll prove it even to thy dull apprehension. Answer me truly. How many meals eats the duke in a day? FIAMETTA. Three, I think, if he be well. PASQUALI. So does Pasquali! How much covering has he? FIAMETTA. Nay—what keeps him warm. PASQUALI. So has Pasquali! How much money carries he on his person? FIAMETTA. None, I think. He is a duke, and needs none. PASQUALI. Even so Pasquali! He is a poet, and needs none. What good does him the gold in his treasury? FIAMETTA. He thinks of it. PASQUALI. So can Pasquali! What pleasure hath he in his soldiers? FIAMETTA. They keep him safe in his palace. PASQUALI. So they do Pasquali in his chamber. Thus far, thou'lt allow, my state is as good as his—and better—for I can think of his gold, and sleep safe by his soldiers, yet have no care of them. FIAMETTA. I warrant he has troubled thoughts. PASQUALI. Thou sayest well. Answer me once more, and I'll prove to thee in what I am richer. Thou'st ne'er heard, I dare swear, of imagin ation. FIAMETTA. Is't a pagan nation or a Christian? PASQUALI. Stay—I'll convey it to thee by a figure. What were the value of thy red stockings over black, if it were always night? FIAMETTA. None. PASQUALI. What were beauty if it were always dark? FIAMETTA. The same as none. PASQUALI. What were green leaves better than brown—diamonds better than pebbles—gold better than brass—if it were always dark? FIAMETTA. No better, truly. PASQUALI. Then the shining of the sun, in a manner, dyes your stockings, creates beauty, makes gold and diamonds, and paints the leaves green? FIAMETTA. I think it doth. PASQUALI. Now mark! There be gems in the earth, qualities in the flowers, creatures in the air, the duke ne'er dreams of. There be treasuries of gold and silver, temples and palaces of glorious work, rapturous music, and feasts the gods sit at—and all seen only by a sun, which, to the duke, is black as Erebus. FIAMETTA. Lord! Lord! Where is it, Master Pasquali! PASQUALI. In my head. [FIAMETTA @3discovers signs of fear.@1] All these gems, treasuries, palaces, and fairy harmonies I see by the imagination I spoke of. Am I not richer now? FIAMETTA [@3retreating from him@1]. The Virgin help us! He thinks there's a sun in his head! I thought to have married him, but he's mad! [@3She falls to weeping.@1] [@3The cathedral is flung open, and the organ plays louder. The bridal processi on comes out of church and passes across the stage. As they pass@1 PASQUALI, @3he offers his epithalamium to@1 SFORZA.] SFORZA. What have we here—petitions? BIANCA. Nay, my lord! Pasquali's not a beggar. You shall read Something inventive here! He's a clear fancy, And sings your praises well. Good chamberlain! Bring him with honor to the palace! Please you, My lord, wilt on! PAGE [@3to@1 PASQUALI]. You'll come to the feast now, won't you? We'll sit together, and have songs and stories, And keep the merriest end on't! [@3As the procession passes off,@1 SARPELLIONE @3plucks@1 PASQUALI @3by the sleeve, and retains him.@1] SARPELLIONE. A fair bride, sir! PASQUALI. What would you, noble Count? SARPELLIONE. The bridegroom, now, Should be a poet, like yourself, to know The worth of such a jewel! PASQUALI. Haply so— But we are staying from the marriage feast— SARPELLIONE. One word! [@3Pulls him aside.@1] Have you ambition? PASQUALI. Like the wings Upon a marble cherub—always spread, But fastened to a body of such weight 'Twill never rise till doomsday. I would drink Sooner than talk of it!—Come on! my lord! SARPELLIONE. Signor Pasquali—I have marked you oft For a shrewd, rapid wit. As one who looks Oft on the sun, there needs no tedious care Lest the light break too suddenly upon you. Is it not so? PASQUALI. Say on! SARPELLIONE. You know how Naples Has over it a sky all poetry. PASQUALI. I know it well. SARPELLIONE. The radiant Giovanna Cherished Boccaccio and Petrarch there, And 'tis the quality of the air they breathed— Alfonso feels it! Brief and to the point! My royal master sends for you. He'd have A galaxy around him! PASQUALI. Noble Count! @3Enter@1 PAGE PAGE. I'm sent to bid you to the feast, sirs! SARPELLIONE. Go! We'll follow straight. [@3Exit@1 PAGE. This leaden-headed soldier Slights you, I see—He took you for a beggar! PASQUALI. Humph! 'tis his wedding day, and I forgive him! SARPELLIONE. You're used to wrong, I knew. PASQUALI. Today, my lord, I'm bent upon a feast—wake not a devil To mar my appetite! SARPELLIONE. One single word! This brainless spear-head would be Duke of Milan. PASQUALI. What! while the duke lives! SARPELLIONE. While the duke's @3son@1 lives, For there @3is@1 one—I'll prove it when you will— And he will murder him to take his crown. PASQUALI. How know you that? SARPELLIONE. Alfonso, king of Naples, Would have this usurpation and this murder In time prevented. PASQUALI. How! SARPELLIONE. By Sforza's death. There's no way else—but 'tis a dangerous theme To talk on here—come out o' the way a little, And you shall have such reasons for the deed— PASQUALI [@3flings him from him with contempt@1]. What "deed"? Dost take me for a murderer? My lord! I'm poor. I have a thirst for honors Such as you offered me but now, that burns Like fire upon my lips—I could be tortured Through twenty deaths to leave a name behind me. But nay, I prate—I'll turn not out to @3thee@1 The golden inside of a soul of honor— [@3Leaving him.@1] When next you want a hand for a bad deed, Look to your @3equals@1—there are those @3beneath@1 you Who, from their darkling wells, see guiding-stars Far o'er @3your@1 head, my lord! [@3Exit.@1 SARPELLIONE. Such men as this Do not betray e'en villains! I shall find Another and a fitter. To the feast now! And watch my time and means. [@3Exit.@1 SCENE 2. @3An ante-room, with a feast seen beyond Enter@1 SFORZA @3and@1 ROSSANO ROSSANO. I've a new culverin Invented here by the duke's armorer; Will you walk forth? SFORZA. Most willingly. Within there! My helmet! @3Enter@1 BIANCA BIANCA. Is there fresh alarm, my lord? You would not go abroad? [@3She takes the helmet from the@1 PAGE @3as he brings it in.@1] SFORZA. A little way, sweet, To look at some new arms. BIANCA. Tomorrow, surely, Will do as well. Here are some loving verses Writ on your marriage! ROSSANO. I've the gonfalon Your father gave me at the siege of Parma. The rags wave yet! SFORZA. I'd rather see a thread on't Than feast a hundred years! BIANCA. My lord, will't please you Come in, and hear the verses? There's a wine You did not taste, grown on Vesuvius; Pray you, come in! ROSSANO. I've, in my tent, the sword Your father plucked from a retreating soldier To head the fight at Pisa. 'Tis well hacked! SFORZA. I'll come, Rossano! [@3To@1 BIANCA.] Nay, sweet! by your leave [@3Takes his helmet.@1] We'll go abroad a little! You shall see us Betimes at supper. Keep the revels toward! We'll taste your wine anon. Come, brave Rossano! [@3They go out.@1 BIANCA @3looks after them thoughtfully a few moments, and then walks back slowly to the banqueting room.@1] SCENE 3. @3The ramparts at night Enter@1 SFORZA @3and@1 ROSSANO ROSSANO. She's loving in her nature, and methought Seemed grieved when you came forth! SFORZA. I should have thought so, But that I had some private information She loved another! ROSSANO. You're perhaps abused! SFORZA. Nay—nay—how should she love me? I'm well on To my meridian, see you!—a rough soldier— Who never learned the courtly phrase of love. And she—the simplest maiden in a cot, Is not more tender-eyed, nor has a heart Apter to know love's lesson ere 'tis time. She's loved ere now, Rossano! ROSSANO. Haply so— Yet be not rude too rashly. SFORZA. Rude! I'll make This forced link that policy puts on her Loose as a smoke-curl! She shall know no master, And be no slave for me! ROSSANO. You'll not neglect her! SFORZA. The sun of woman's world is love, Rossano! When that sun sets, if no unpitying cloud Trouble her sky, there rises oftentimes A crescent moon of memory, whose light Makes the dark pathway clear agian. Bianca's May have gone down for me! I'll be no cloud To mar the moon as well. ROSSANO. Stand by—there comes A footfall this way. [@3They stand aside.@1] @3Enter@1 PASQUALI, @3hiccupping, and talking to himself@1 PASQUALI. That wine was grown on Vesuvius. That's the reason it makes such an eruption. If it breaks out o' the top o' my head now—as I think it will —for it gets hotter and hotter—I shall know if wit be in the brains or the belly. ROSSANO [@3aside@1]. (Stay—my lord! This is Pasquali, whose verses Bianca sometimes sings to her lute. Ten to one now but you may gather from his drunkenness if Bianca loves another.) [ROSSANO @3comes forward.@1] Good even, Master Pasquali. PASQUALI. That's an everyday phrase—this is holyday! ROSSANO. A @3merry@1 good even, then! PASQUALI. Ay, that's better! For we're all merry—except the bride. And that's the way of it. ROSSANO. What's the way of it? PASQUALI. See here! Who is it that never weeps at a funeral? ROSSANO. You shall tell me. PASQUALI. The dead man, that hath most cause. ROSSANO. And what hath that to do with a bridal? PASQUALI. A great deal. Of all people at a bridal, who should be most merry? Why, the bride! now I have just left a bride that is sad enough for a funeral. ROSSANO. For what cause, think you? PASQUALI. There are some things which can have but one cause. There's but one cause for drunkenness, and there's but one for grief on a wedding-day. ROSSANO. And what's that? PASQUALI. Wine—causes drunkenness! ROSSANO. And what causes grief in a bride? PASQUALI. Want of love for the bridegroom. ROSSANO. How know you that, sir? PASQUALI. Listen to in-spi-ra-tion! "When first young Lionel did catch mine eye, Sforza, the valiant, passed unheeded by!" ROSSANO. Villain! these are thine own lying verses! PASQUALI [@3pulling out his sword@1]. The figures of speech are lies of verse. But if thou sayest that it is a lie that Bianca loves Lionel best, @3thou@1 liest in prose, and so, come on! [@3Attacks@1 ROSSANO, @3and@1 SFORZA @3comes forward, and strikes up their swords.@1] SFORZA. Get home, thou drunkard! Come, away, Rossano. He writes what's palatable, and but echoes That which is rung at court. She loved this prince— Sarpellione told me so before. We'll to the field and our old mistress, glory. Come on—we'll talk of battles and forget her. [@3Exeunt.@1 PASQUALI. Fighting's not my vocation; but I have an itching that way, and I'll after him. Halloo! Were there two men? I think there were two. The last man called me a drunkard! That's no offence! a poet may be a drunkard! But "villain!" that's incompatible, and must be pricked back. Halloo! [@3Exit.@1 SCENE 4. BIANCA'S @3chamber at midnight. She sits on a couch in a white undress, and@1 SFORZA @3beside her in his armor.@1 BIANCA. Dost think this ring a pretty one, my lord? SFORZA. Ay, 'tis a pretty ring! I have one here Marancio gave me—Giacomo Marancio. The ring his wife sent—but you've heard the story? BIANCA. I think I never heard it. SFORZA. She's a woman The heart grows but to speak of. She was held A hostage by the Milanese (I pray you Pardon the mention), when, 'twixt them and me Marancio held a pass. Her life was threatened If by his means I crossed the Adige. She— (Brave heart! I warm to speak of her!) found means To send to him this ring; wherein is writ "He who loves most, loves honor best." You'll see it Here o' the inside. BIANCA. Did you see this lady? SFORZA. I hazarded a battle three days after With perilous odds, only to bring her off— And would have sold my life for't. BIANCA. Did you @3see@1 her? SFORZA. I gave her to Marancio when I took The ring of him. BIANCA. My lord! speak you so warmly Of any other woman? SFORZA [@3rising and taking his helmet@1]. Nay, I know not. There are some qualities that women have Which are less worthy, but which warm us more Than speaking of their virtues. I remember The fair Giovanna in her pride at Naples. Gods! what a light enveloped her! She left Little to shine in history—but her beauty Was of that order that the universe Seemed governed by her motion. Men looked on her As if her next step would arrest the world; And as the sea-bird seems to rule the wave He rides so buoyantly, all things around her— The glittering army, the spread gonfalon, The pomp, the music, the bright sun in heaven— Seemed glorious by her leave. BIANCA [@3rising and going to the window@1]. There's emulation Of such sweet praise, my lord! Did you not hear The faint note of a nightingale? SFORZA. More like A far-heard clarion, methought! They change The sentinels, perchance. 'Tis time Rossano Awaits me on the ramparts. BIANCA. Not tonight! Go not abroad again tonight, my lord! SFORZA. For a brief hour, sweet! the old soldier loves To gossip of the fields he's lost and won, And I, no less, to listen. Get to bed! I'll follow you anon. [@3Exit@1 SFORZA. BIANCA. He does not love me! I never dreamed of this! To be his bride Was all the heaven I looked for! Not to love me When I have been ten years affianced to him!— When I have lived for him—shut up my heart, With every pulse and hope, for his use only— Worshipped—oh God! idolatrously loved him! Why has he sought to marry me? Why still Renew the broken pledge my father made him? Why, for ten years, with war and policy, Strive for my poor alliance? ...... ........... He @3must@1 love me, Or I shall break my heart! I never had One other hope in life! I never linked @3One@1 thought, but to this chain! I have no blood— No breath—no being—separate from Sforza! Nothing has any other name! The sun Shined like his smile—the lightning was his glory— The night his sleep, and the hushed moon watched o'er him;— Stars writ his name—his breath hung on the flowers— Music had no voice but to say @3I love him,@1 And life no future, but his love for me! Whom does he love? Marancio's wife? He praised Only her courage! Queen Giovanna's beauty? 'Tis dust these many years! There is no sign He loves another; and report said ever His @3glory@1 was his mistress. @3Can@1 he love? Shame on the doubt! 'Twas written in the ring "He who loves @3most,@1 loves honor best"— and Sforza Is made too like a god to lack a heart. And so, I breathe again! To make him love me Is all my life now! to pry through his nature, And find his heart out. @3That's@1 wrapt in his glory! I'll feed his glory, then! He praised Giovanna That she was royal and magnificent— Ay—that's well thought on, too! How should an eye, Dazzled with war and warlike pomp, like Sforza's, Find pleasure in simplicity like mine! [@3Looks at her dress.@1] I'm a duke's daughter, and I'll wear the look on't! Unlock my jewels and my costly robes, And while I keep his show-struck eye upon me, Watch for a golden opportunity To build up his renown! ....... ........... And so farewell The gentle world I've lived in! Farewell all My visions of a world for two hearts only— Sforza's and mine! If I outlive this change, So brief and yet so violent within me, I'll come back in my dreams, oh, childish world! If not—a broken heart blots out remembrance. [@3Exit into her bridal chamber, which is seen beyond on opening the door.@1] ACT III SCENE 1. @3An ante-chamber of the palace.@1 BRUNORIO @3leaning sullenly on his sword by the door. Enter@1 SARPELLIONE SARPELLIONE. What's this?—the brave Brunorio turned lackey? BRUNORIO. Nay, Count! I wait my turn. SARPELLIONE. If a civilian May have a judgment of a soldier's duty, You're out of place, sir! This is not the camp! You're not on guard here! There's a difference 'Twixt patience at your post, and kicking heels In my lord's ante-chamber! BRUNORIO. By the saints My own thought, noble Count! As you came in I brooded on't. SARPELLIONE [@3aside@1]. (This blockhead may be turned To a shrewd use now! I have marked his brows Blackening upon Rossano, who usurps His confidence with Sforza. Could I seize The lightning in this jealous thundercloud— I'll see the depth on't.) Sforza @3knows@1 you're @3here?@1 BRUNORIO. I had a message by a varlet page, Who bid me wait here. SARPELLIONE. By a page? Sacristie! Fair treatment for a soldier! Say, Brunorio! What was't I heard of the Pope's standard-bearer Clove to the wrist? BRUNORIO. Heard you of @3that,@1 my lord? You see the weapon here! SARPELLIONE. Was't thine, i'faith? I thought @3promotion@1 had been won with service! Was't thou, indeed? I heard the King Alfonso Say 'twas the best blow and the bravest followed He'd known in his time. How it came to his ears I know not—but he made the court ring with it! BRUNORIO. The king? SARPELLIONE. How long since thou wast made lieutenant? BRUNORIO. Five years come March! SARPELLIONE. Zounds! how this peasant's son Treads merit in the dust! Sforza keeps back His betters, brave Brunorio! [ROSSANO @3passes out.@1] Ay—there! That man cuts off your sunshine, or I know Nothing of courts! I, that have no part in it, Have marked how you are slighted for Rossano! Forgive my touching on't! 'Tis my respect For a brave soldier makes me speak so freely. But were I of your counsel— BRUNORIO. Noble Count, My heart speaks through your lips. Since this Rossano Has had my lord's ear, I've been thrust aside Like a disgraced hound. SARPELLIONE. Frankly, brave Brunorio! And between us,—I've heard you lightly mentioned By this ungrateful Sforza! BRUNORIO. How, my lord? SARPELLIONE. I would not tell you but to serve you in it— He told Rossano, there, that you had strength, And struck a sharp blow—and so did an axe! But for your brains—and then he tossed his head— You've seen the scorn upon his lip? BRUNORIO. Curse on him! I've a sharp blow left yet—and brains enough To find a time to strike it! Did you say Alfonso had spoke well of me, my lord? SARPELLIONE. So well, that, on my own authority— If you'd take service with a better master— You're captain from this hour. BRUNORIO. My lord! So promptly I take your offer, that your commendations Will find no swifter bearer than myself To King Alfonso. SARPELLIONE. Stay—I'm not just now On the best terms with Sforza, and you'll see With half a glance, that while he's here in Milan His best sword could not leave him for Alfonso, But it would throw suspicion upon me, And touch my credit here. I'll write your warrant, Which you shall keep, and use it when you please. But for the present shut your bosom up, And bear your wrongs. Sforza awaits you now— Go in. I'll see you as you pass again! [@3Exit@1 BRUNORIO. He's a fit tool! This o'er-ambitious Sforza Must not be duke—and if I fret this cur Till he will tear his master, why, 'twill save A worthier hand the trouble on't. [@3Exit@1 SARPELLIONE. SCENE 2. SFORZA @3discovered sitting thoughtfully in his apartment. The@1 PAGE @3curiously examining his sword.@1 SFORZA [@3yawning@1]. This is dull work! PAGE. My Lord, will't please you, teach me A trick of fence? SFORZA. Ay—willingly! Hast thou A weapon in that needle-case of thine? PAGE [@3drawing@1]. A weapon! If I had your legs to stand on I'd give you all the odds 'twixt it and yours! Look at that blade! [@3Bends it.@1] Damascus! [SFORZA @3smiles, and unbuckles his scabbard.@1] By the gods, You shall not laugh at me! I'll give you odds,— With anything to stand on! SFORZA. Nay—I'll sit— And you shall touch me if you can! Come on! And see I do not rap you o'er the cockscomb! PAGE. Have at you fairly! Mind! for I'm in earnest! [@3They fence.@1] SFORZA. One—two—well thrust, by Jupiter! Again! One—two! PAGE [@3makes a lunge@1]. @3Three!@1 there you have it! SFORZA [@3starting up@1]. Zounds! This is no play. PAGE. What! does the needle prick? [@3Wipes it with his handkerchief.@1] SFORZA. 'Tis a Damascus if thou wilt! I'll laugh No more at it or thee. Come here, thou varlet! Where got thy mistress such a ready hand As thou art? PAGE [@3fencing with the chair@1]. From an eagle's nest, my lord! SFORZA. I'll swear to it! Thou hast the eagle's eye! But tell me—what brave gentleman of Milan Has thy blood in his veins? PAGE. I'm not of Milan. Sarpellione brought me here from Naples. SFORZA. Thou'rt not his child. I'll answer for't. PAGE. Not I! I hate him! Come! Wilt try another pass? SFORZA. Stay! is the count thy master, then? PAGE. @3My@1 master? He's an old snake! But I'll say this for him, Were I a royal prince—(as I may be— Who knows!)—Sarpellione could not treat me With more becoming honor. SFORZA [@3starting up suddenly@1]. What if this Should be the duke's son that he told me of? Come hither, sir! What know you of your father? [@3Aside.@1] ('Tis the Visconti's lip!) PAGE. I'll tell you all I know, my lord. Alfonso sent me here, Five years ago, in quality of page. I was to serve my lady and no other, Ann to be gently nurtured. The king gave me A smart new feather—bade me bear myself Like a young prince at Milan— SFORZA [@3starting away from him@1]. It is he!— Princely in spirit, and Visconti's impress On every feature! He'll be duke of Milan! PAGE. Heard you the duke was worse today, my lord? SFORZA. What duke? PAGE. Nay, sir! you ought to know what duke! I heard the doctor say you'd wear his crown In three days. Never say I told you of it! He whispered it to old Sarpellione, Who— SFORZA. What? PAGE. Looked daggers at him! SFORZA [@3aside@1]. (Now the devil Plucks at my soul indeed! If the duke die, The crown lies in the gift of my new wife, And I were duke as sure as he were dead— But for this boy! [@3Walks rapidly up and down.@1] I'd set my foot in Venice In half a year!—Ferrara—then Bologna— Florence—and thence to Naples! I'd be king Of Italy before their mourning's threadbare— But for this boy! ... [@3The page still fences with the chair.@1] ....................... I'd found a dynasty!— Be second of the name—but the first king— And there should go, e'en with the news, to France, A bold ambassador from one Francesco,— Sforza by birth and king of Italy— @3But for this boy!@1 ... ...................... I would he were a man! I would an army barred me from the crown, Sooner than this boy's right! But he might die! He might have run upon my sword just now! 'Twere natural,—and so it were to fall In playing with't, and bleed to death unheard, From a ripped vein. That would be natural! He might have died in @3many ways@1 and @3I@1 Have no part in't.) PAGE. Will you fence, my lord? SFORZA [@3clutches his sword, and suddenly sheaths it, and walks from him. Aside@1]. (Get thee gone, devil! After all his glory Shall Sforza be the murderer of a child?) No—No! I'll not fence with thee! Go and play! I—I—I—[@3Turns from him@1]. Stay! shall such a grain of sand As a boy's life, check Sforza's bold ambition? I, who have hewn down thousands in a day For but the play on't—I, upon whose hand Sat slaughter, like a falcon, to let loose At all that flew above me! I—whose conscience Carries the reckoning of unnumbered souls Sped unto hell or heaven, for this ambition!— Shall I mar all now with a woman's pity For a fair stripling! [@3Draws his sword, and the@1 PAGE, @3who has been regarding him attentively, comes up and pulls him by his sleeve.@1] PAGE. Look you here, my lord! If I have harmed you—for you seem so angry I @3think@1 I have—more than I meant to do— Take my own sword, and wound me back again! I'll not cry out—and when you see me bleed, You'll pardon me that I was so unhappy As to have chanced to wound you! [@3Kneels, opens his bosom, and offers his sword-hilt to@1 SFORZA.] SFORZA. Angels keep me! Give me thy hand, boy! [@3Looks at him a moment, and passes his hand across his eyes.@1] PAGE. You'll forgive me, sir? Letting of blood—@3when done in fair play, mind you!@1— Has no offence in't. SFORZA. Leave me now, sweet boy! I'll see thee at the feast tonight! Farewell! [PAGE @3kisses his hand, and exit.@1 Shade of my father! If from Heaven thou lookest Upon the bright inheritance of glory I took from thee—pluck from my tortured soul These thoughts of hell—and keep me worthy of thee! [@3Walks up and down thoughtfully, and then presses the crucifix to his lips.@1] As I am true to honor and that child, Help me, just Heaven! SCENE 3. @3A bridal feast seen through a glass door in the rear of the stage. Enter from the banqueting room,@1 BIANCA, @3dressed with great magnificence, followed by@1 SFORZA, ROSSANO, BRUNORIO, @3and@1 SARPELLIONE. @3A raised throne at the side. Music heard till the door is closed.@1 BIANCA. They who love stillness follow us! The brain Grown giddy with the never-wearying dance, And music's pause is sweet as its beginning. Shut the doors, Giulio! Sarpellione! enter! You're welcome to Trophonius' cave! We'll hold The Court of Silence, and I'll play the Queen. My brave lord, you shall doff that serious air, And be court favorite—sit you at our feet! SFORZA. Too envious a place and office both! I'll sit here with Rossano. Honor's flower— That lifts a bold head in the world—at court, Looks for the lily's hiding-place. SARPELLIONE [@3aside@1]. (What trick Lies in this new humility?) The lily Is lowly born, and knows its place, my lord! BIANCA. Yet is it sought with pains while the rose withers! SARPELLIONE. The rose lifts to the sun its flowering tree, And all its parts are honored—while the lily Upon one fragile stem rears all its beauty— And its coarse family of leaves are left To lie on the earth they cling to. SFORZA [@3to@1 ROSSANO, @3with whom he has been conversing apart@1]. (I've sure news He was worse yesterday.) BIANCA [@3rising with dignity, and descending from the ducal chair@1]. Now, since the serpent Misled our mother, never was fair truth So subtly turned to error. If the rose Were born a lily, and, by force of heart And eagerness for light, grew tall and fair, 'Twere a true type of the first fiery soul That makes a low name honorable. They Who take it by inheritance alone— Adding no brightness to it—are like stars Seen in the ocean, that were never there But for the bright originals in heaven! SARPELLIONE [@3sneeringly@1]. Rest to the gallant soul of the @3first@1 Sforza! BIANCA. Amen! but triple glory to the second! I have a brief tale for thine ear, ambassador! SARPELLIONE. I listen, lady! BIANCA. Mark the moral, sir! An eagle once from the Euganean hills Soared bravely to the sky. [@3To@1 SFORZA.] (Wilt please my lord List to my story?) In his giddy track Scarce marked by them who gazed upon the first, Followed a new-fledged eaglet, fast and well. Upward they sped, and all eyes on their flight Gazed with admiring awe, when suddenly, The parent bird, struck by a thunderbolt, Dropped lifeless through the air. The eaglet paused, And hung upon his wings; and as his sire Plashed in the far-down wave, men looked to see him Flee to his nest affrighted! SFORZA [@3with great interest@1]. Did he so? BIANCA. My noble lord—he had a monarch's heart! He wheeled a moment in mid air, and shook Proudly his royal wings, and then right on, With crest uplifted and unwavering flight, Sped to the sun's eye, straight and gloriously. PAGE. Lady—is that true? BIANCA. Ay—men call those eagles Sforza the First and Second! [@3The bell tolls, and enter a@1 MESSENGER.] MESSENGER. Pardon, madam! For my sad news! your royal father's dead! BIANCA [@3aside, with great energy@1]. (Sforza'll be duke!) [@3Turning to the@1 MESSENGER.] Died he in much pain, know you? MESSENGER. Madam— BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (The crown is mine! He will remember The crown was @3mine.@1) [@3Turns to the@1 MESSENGER.] Sent he for any one In his extremity? MESSENGER. Most honored madam— BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (Ingratitude is not the lion's fault— He cannot hate me when I make him royal! It would be monstrous if he did not love me!) [@3To the@1 MESSENGER.] Said you my father sent for me? MESSENGER. No! Madam, He died as he had lived, unseen of any Save his physician! BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (Sforza must be crowned And then our mourning will shut out the world! He'll be alone with me and his new glory— All royal, and all @3mine!@1) [@3To@1 SFORZA.] Please you, my lord, Dismiss the revellers! My father's dead! [@3Aside.@1] (There are no more Viscontis—Sforza's children Shall now be dukes of Milan! Think on that! @3He'll@1 think on't, and his heart will come down to me, Or there's no truth in nature!) [@3To@1 SFORZA.] My brave lord! Shall we go in? SFORZA. Go you in first! [@3Hands her in.@1] Rossano Will forth with me, to see the funeral Fitly arranged. BIANCA. You'll come back soon, my lord! SFORZA. Ay—presently! [@3Exit@1 BIANCA. ROSSANO. With what a majesty She walks! SFORZA. She knows not that she has a brother, And in her port already mocks the duchess. ROSSANO. She would have made a glorious queen, my lord! SFORZA. She @3should@1 have made one—but I cannot talk on't! Let's forth upon our errand, and forget There was a crown in Milan. [@3Exeunt.@1 ACT IV SCENE 1. PASQUALI'S @3chamber.@1 FIAMETTA @3sitting with his cap in her hand.@1 FIAMETTA. What wilt thou do for a black feather, Pasquali? PASQUALI. Hast thou no money? FIAMETTA. No—save my dowry of six pieces. PASQUALI. Give the pieces to me, and thy dowry will be ten times greater. FIAMETTA. An it be not six times less, I will never trust counting upon fingers. PASQUALI. Hast thou no dread of dying uncelebrated? FIAMETTA. If it be sin, I have a dread of it by baptism. PASQUALI. Is it a sin to neglect thy immortality? FIAMETTA. Ay—it is. PASQUALI. Then take heed how thou fallest into sin—for to be the friend of a poet is to be immortal, and thou art no friend of mine if I have not thy six pieces. FIAMETTA. But how shall I have six times more, Master Pasquali? PASQUALI. In reputation! Wouldst thou marry a fool? FIAMETTA. No, truly. PASQUALI. Then if thy husband be wise, he will be more proud that thou art famous, than covetous of t hy six pieces. FIAMETTA. And shall I be famous? [@3Gives him the money.@1] PASQUALI. Thou wilt live when Sforza is dead! FIAMETTA. Is not Sforza famous, then? PASQUALI. He hath fame while he lives, and so had King Priam of Troy. But if Homer had not written, Priam would have been forgot and Troy too; and if Sforza live not in poetry, he is as dead in a century—as thou and Laura were, but for thy favors to Petrarch and Pasquali. FIAMETTA. Why does not Sforza give thee six pieces and be immortal? PASQUALI. Truly—he pays more for a less matter. It is the blindness of great men that they slight the poets. Look here, now—hath not Sforza shed blood, and wasted treasure, and taken a thousand murders on his soul, to leave a name after him? FIAMETTA. I misdoubt he hath. PASQUALI. Now will I, whom he thinks less worthy than a trumpeter, sit down, and with a scrape of my pen, make a dog's name more known to posterity. FIAMETTA. When thou speakest of a dog, I think of my lady's page. Canst thou te ll me why she should love him so out of reason? PASQUALI. Canst thou tell me why the moon riseth not every night, as the sun every day? FIAMETTA. No—truly. PASQUALI. Neither can I give thee reason for a woman's fancy—which is as unaccountable in its caprice as the moon in its changes. Hence the sun is called "@3he,@1" the moon "@3she.@1" FIAMETTA. Holy Virgin—what it is to be learned! PASQUALI. Come, Fiametta spend thy dowry while thy mind is enlightened! FIAMETTA. If I should repent now! PASQUALI. Think not of it. If thou shouldst repent tomorrow, I shall still go beseemingly to the funeral, and thou wilt be famous past praying for. Come away! SCENE 2. @3The garden of the palace of Milan Enter@1 BIANCA @3in mourning, followed by@1 SARPELLIONE BIANCA. Liar—'tis not true! SARPELLIONE. Will't please you read this letter from the king, Writ when he sent him to you— BIANCA [@3plucks it from him, and tears it to pieces@1]. 'Tis a lie Writ by thyself— SARPELLIONE [@3taking up the pieces@1]. The king has written here The story of his birth, and that he is Your brother, pledges his most royal honor— BIANCA. Lie upon lie— SARPELLIONE. And will maintain the same With sword and battle! BIANCA. Let him! There's a Sforza Will whip him back to Naples! Tell him so! There'll be a duke upon the throne of Milan In three days more, whose children will be kings! SARPELLIONE. Your brother, madam! BIANCA. Lia, no! my husband! The crown is mine, and @3I@1 will give it him! SARPELLIONE. Pardon me, lady, 'tis not yours to give! While a Visconti lives—and one @3does@1 live— Princely and like his father—'tis not yours— And Sforza dare not take it. BIANCA. He @3has@1 taken it, In taking me. Sforza is duke, I say! SARPELLIONE. Am I dismissed to Naples with this news? BIANCA. Ay—on the instant! SARPELLIONE. Will you give me leave To bid the prince make ready for his journey? BIANCA. What prince? SARPELLIONE. Your brother, madam, who'll come back With the whole league of armed Italy To take the crown he's born to. BIANCA. I've a page I love, called Giulio! If you mean to ask me If he goes with you—lying traitor! no! I love him, and will keep him! SARPELLIONE. Ay—till Milan Knows him for prince, and then farewell to Sforza! He's flown too near the sun! BIANCA. Foul raven, silence! What dost @3thou@1 know of eagles who wert born To mumble over carrion! Hast thou looked On the high front of Sforza? Hast thou heard The thunder of his voice? Hast met his eye? 'Tis writ upon his forehead: @3Born a king!@1 Read it, blind liar! SARPELLIONE. Upon your brother's, lady, The world shall read it. BIANCA. Wilt thou drive me mad? They say all breathing nature has an instinct Of that which would destroy it. I of thee Feel that abhorrence! If a glistering serpent Hissed in my path, I could not shudder more, Nor would I kill it sooner—so begone! I'll strike thee dead else! SARPELLIONE. Madam! [@3Exit@1 SARPELLIONE. BIANCA. 'Tis my brother! At the first word with which he broke it to me My heart gave nature's echo! 'Tis my brother! I would that he were dead—and yet I love him— Love him so well, that I could die for him— Yet hate him that he bars the crown from Sforza. He's betwixt me and heaven! were @3he@1 but dead! Sforza and I would, like the sun and moon, Have all the light the world has! He must die! Milan will rise for him—his boyish spirit Is known and loved in every quarter of it. Naples is powerful, and Venice holds Direct succession holy, and the lords Of all the Marches will cry "down usurper!" For Sforza's glory has o'ershadowed theirs. Both cannot live or I must live unloved— And that were hell—or die, and heaven without him Were but a hell—for I've no soul to go there! Nothing but love! no memory but that! No hope! no sense!—Heaven were a madhouse to me! Hark! who comes here? @3Enter@1 SARPELLIONE @3and@1 BRUNORIO. BIANCA @3conceals herself@1 SARPELLIONE. Strike but this blow, Brunorio— And thou'rt a made man! BRUNORIO. Sforza sleeps not well. SARPELLIONE. Art thou less strong of arm than he who called thee A brainless ass? BRUNORIO. 'Sdeath, he did call me so! SARPELLIONE. And more I never told thee. Pay him for it— And thou wilt save a prince who'll cherish thee, And Sforza's soul a murder—for he'll kill him Ere one might ride to Naples. BRUNORIO. Think'st thou so? SARPELLIONE. Is it not certain? If this boy were dead Sforza were duke. With Milan at his back He were the devil. Rather than see this, Alfonso would share half his kingdom with thee. BRUNORIO. I'll do it! SARPELLIONE. Thou wilt save a prince's life Whome he would murder. Now collect thy senses, And look around thee! On that rustic bank, Close by the fountain, with his armor off, He sleeps away the noon. BRUNORIO. With face uncovered? SARPELLIONE. Sometimes—but oftener with his mantle drawn Quite over him! But thou must strike so well, That, should he see thee, he will never tell on't. BRUNORIO. I'd rather he were covered. SARPELLIONE. 'Tis most likely— But mark the ground well. By this alley here, You'll creep on unperceived. If he's awake— You're his lieutenant, and may have good reason To seek him any hour? Are you resolved? BRUNORIO. I am! SARPELLIONE. Once more look round you! BRUNORIO. If he sleep Tomorrow, he'll ne'er wake! SARPELLIONE. Why, that's well said— Come now and try the horse I've chosen for you. We'll fly like birds with welcome news to Naples! [@3Exeunt@1 SARPELLIONE @3and@1 BRUNORIO. BIANCA. Thank God that I was here! Can there be souls So black as these—to plot so foul a murder! Oh, unretributive and silent Heavens! Heard you these men? Thank God that I can save him! The sun shone on them—@3on these murderers@1— As it shines now on @3me!@1—Would it were Giulio They thought to murder!—Ha! what ready fiend Whispered me that? Giulio @3instead@1 of Sforza! Why, that were murder—@3too!@1—Brunorio's murder!— Not mine! my hands would show no blood for it! If Giulio were asleep beneath the mantle Tomorrow noon, and Sforza in his chamber— What murder lies upon my soul for that? I'll come again tonight, and see the place, And think on't in the dark! [@3Exit@1 BIANCA. ACT V SCENE 1. @3Same scene in the garden Enter@1 BIANCA BIANCA. No! no! come hate—come worse indifference! Come anything—I will not! He is gone To bring me flowers now, for he sees I'm sad; Yet, with his delicate thought, asks not the reason, But tries to steal it from me! @3could@1 I kill him! His eyes grew moist this morn, for I was pale— With thinking of his murder! could I kill him! Oh, Sforza! I could walk on burning ploughshares, But not kill pitying Giulio! I could starve— Or freeze with wintry cold—or swallow fire— Or die a death for every drop of blood Kneeling at my sad heart, but not kill Giulio! No—no—no! no! SFORZA @3comes in dejectedly@1 My lord! My noble lord! SFORZA. Give you good day, Bianca! BIANCA. Are you ill, That you should drop your words so sorrowfully? SFORZA. I am not ill, nor well! BIANCA. Not well? SFORZA. The pulse Beats on sometimes, when the heart quite runs down. I'm very well! BIANCA. My lord, you married me— The priest said so—to share both joy and sorrow. For the last privilege I've shed sweet tears!— If I'm not worthy— SFORZA. Nay—you are!—I thank you For many proofs of gentle disposition, Which, to say truth, I scarcely looked for in you— Knowing that policy, and not your choice, United us! BIANCA. My lord! SFORZA. I say you're worthy, For this, to see my heart—if you could do so, But there's a grief in't now which brings you joy, And so you'll pardon me! GIULIO @3comes in with a heap of flowers, which he throws down and listens@1 BIANCA. That cannot be! SFORZA. Listen to this. I had a falcon lately, That I had trained, till, in the sky above him, He was the monarch of all birds that flew. I loved him next my heart, and had no joy, But to unloose his feet, and see the eagle Quail at his fiery swoop! I brought him here! Sitting one day upon my wrist, he heard The nightingale you love, sing in the tree, While I applauded him. With jealous heart My falcon sprang to kill him; and with fear For your sweet bird, I struck him to my feet; And since that hour, he droops. His heart is broke, And he'll ne'er soar again! PAGE. Why, one such bird Were worth a thousand nightingales. BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (Poor boy! He utters his own doom!) [@3To@1 SFORZA.] My Lord, I have A slight request, which you will not refuse me. Please you, today sleep in your chamber. I Will give you reason for't. SFORZA. Be't as you will! The noon creeps on apace, and in my dreams I may forget this heaviness. [@3Goes in.@1] BIANCA. Be stern, Strong heart! and think on Sforza! Giulio! PAGE. Madam! BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (He's hot and weary now, and will drink freely This opiate in his cup, and from his sound And sudden sleep he'll wake in Paradise.) Giulio, I say! [@3She mixes an opiate.@1] PAGE. Sweet lady, pardon me! I dreamed I was in heaven, and feared to stir Lest I should jar some music. Was't your voice I heard sing, "Giulio"? BIANCA [@3aside@1]. (Oh, ye pitying angles, Let him not love me most, when I would kill him.) Drink! Giulio! PAGE. Is it sweet? BIANCA. The sweetest cup You'll drink in this world! PAGE. I can make it sweeter— BIANCA. And how? PAGE. With your health in it! BIANCA. Drink it not! Not my health! Drink what other health thou wilt! Not mine—not mine! PAGE. Then here's the noble falcon That Sforza told us of! Would you not kill The nightingale that broke his spirit, madam? BIANCA. Oh, Giulio! Giulio! [@3Weeps.@1] PAGE. Nay—I did not think You loved your singing bird so well, dear lady! BIANCA. (He'll break my heart!) PAGE. Say truly! if the falcon Must pine unless the nightingale were dead, Would you not kill it? BIANCA. Though my life went with it— I must do so! PAGE. Why—so I think! And yet If I had fed the nightingale, and loved him; And he were innocent, as, after all He is, you know—I should not like to kill him— Not with my own hands! BIANCA. Now, relentless heavens, Must I be struck with daggers through and through! Speaks not a mocking demon with his lips? I will not kill him! PAGE. Sforza has gone in— May I sleep there, sweet lady, in his place? BIANCA. No, boy! thou shalt not! PAGE. Then will you? BIANCA. Oh, God! I would I could! and have no waking after! Come hither, Giulio! nay—nay—stop not there! Come on a little, and I'll make thy pillow Softer than ever mine will be again. Tell me you love me ere you go to sleep! PAGE. With all my soul, dear mistress! [@3Drops asleep.@1] BIANCA. Now he sleeps! This mantle for his pall—but stay—his shape Looks not like Sforza under it. Fair flowers, [@3Heaps them at his feet, and spreads the mantle over all.@1] Your innocence to his! Exhale together, Pure spirit and sweet fragrance! So—one kiss! Giulio! my brother! Who comes there? Wake, Giulio! Or thou'lt be murdered! Nay—'twas but the wind! [@3Withdraws on tiptoe, and crouches behind a tree.@1] I will kneel here and pray! BRUNORIO @3creeps in, followed by@1 SARPELLIONE @3at a distance@1 Hark! SARPELLIONE. See—he sleeps. Strike well, and fear not! BIANCA [@3springing forward as he strikes@1]. Giulio! Giulio! wake! Ah, God! [@3She drops on the body, the murderer escapes and@1 SFORZA @3rushes in. As he bends over her the scene closes.@1] SCENE 2. @3A road outside the walls of Milan Enter@1 SARPELLIONE @3and@1 BRUNORIO, @3flying from the city, and met by@1 PASQUALI PASQUALI. What news, sirs? [@3As they attempt to pass him without answer, he steps before@1 SARPELLIONE.] Stay, Count, I've a word with you! SARPELLIONE. Stand off, and let me pass! PASQUALI. Nay, with your leave One single word! SARPELLIONE. Brunorio! hasten forward, And loose my bridle! I'll be there o' the instant! [BRUNORIO @3hastens on.@1] What would you say? PASQUALI. My lord! I hear the bell Tolling in Milan, that is never heard But at some dread alarm. SARPELLIONE [@3pressing to go on@1]. Is that all? PASQUALI. Stay! I met a flying peasant here just now, Who muttered of some @3murder,@1 and flew on! SARPELLIONE. Slave! let me pass! [@3Draws, and@1 PASQUALI @3confronts him with his sword.@1] PASQUALI. My lord! you once essayed To tempt me to a murder. Something tells me That this hot haste has guilt upon its heels, And you shall stay till I know more of it. Down with your point! SARPELLIONE. Villain! respect my office! PASQUALI. No "villain," and no murderer! In Milan They've soldiers' law, and if your skirts are bloody, You'll get small honor for your coat, ambassador! Bear back, I say! [@3They fight, and@1 SARPELLIONE @3falls, disarmed, on his knee.@1] SARPELLIONE. In mercy, spare my life! PASQUALI. Up, coward! You shall go before to Milan, And meet the news! If you are innocent, I'll ne'er believe a secret prompting more. If not, I've done the state a worthy service. On, on, I say! [@3Drives@1 SARPELLIONE @3out before him at the point of his sword.@1] SCENE 3. @3A room of state in the palace Enter@1 ROSSANO @3and a@1 PRIEST ROSSANO. Will she not eat? PRIEST. She hath not taken food Since the boy died! ROSSANO. Nor slept? PRIEST. Nor closed an eyelid! ROSSANO. What does she? PRIEST. Still, with breathless repetition, Goes through the page's murder—makes his couch As he lay down i' the garden—heaps again The flowers upon him to eke out his length; Then kisses him, and hides to see him killed! 'Twould break your heart to look on't. ROSSANO. Is't the law That she must crown him? PRIEST. If, upon the death Of any Duke of Milan, the succession Fall to a daughter, she may rule alone, Giving her husband neither voice nor power If she so please. But if she delegate The crown to him, or in extremity Impose it, it is not legitimate, Save he is crowned by her own living hands In presence of the council. @3Enter@1 SFORZA, @3in full armor, except the helmet@1 SFORZA. Ho! Rossano! ROSSANO. My lord! SFORZA. Send quick, and summon in the council To see the crown imposed! Bianca dies! My throne hangs on your speed! Fly! [@3Exit@1 ROSSANO. Sentry, ho! Despatch a hundred of my swiftest horse Toward Naples! Bring me back Sarpellione! Alive or dead, a thousand ducats for him! Quick! [@3Exit sentinel, re-enter@1 ROSSANO.] ROSSANO. I have sped your orders! @3Enter a@1 MESSENGER MESSENGER. Please, my lord, Lady Bianca prays your presence with her! SFORZA. Away! I'll come! [@3To@1 ROSSANO.] Go, man the citadel With my choice troops! Post them at every gate! Send for the Milanese to scout or forage, I care not what, so they're without the wall! And hark, Rossano! if you hear a knell Wail out before the coronation peal,— Telling to Milan that Bianca's dead, And there's no duke—down with the ducal banner, And, like an eagle, to the topmost tower Up with my gonfalon! Away! @3Re-enter the@1 MESSENGER @3from@1 BIANCA MESSENGER. My lord— SFORZA. I come! I come! PASQUALI [@3without@1]. In, in! @3Enter@1 SARPELLIONE, @3followed by@1 PASQUALI SARPELLIONE [@3aghast at the sight of@1 SFORZA]. Alive! SFORZA. Ha, devil! Have you come back to get some fresher news? Alfonso'd know who's duke! While you are hanging, I'll ride to Naples with the news myself! Ha! ha! my star smiles on me! BIANCA @3rushes in and crouches at the side of@1 SFORZA, @3as if hiding from something beyond him.@1 BIANCA. Hark! I hear them! Come! come! Brunorio!—If you come not quick, My heart will break and wake him! [@3Presses her hand painfully to her side.@1] Crack not yet! Nay, think on Sforza! Think 'tis for his love! Giulio will be an angel up in Heaven, And Sforza will drink glory from @3my@1 hand! Come! come! Brunorio! [@3Screams piercingly.@1] Ah, who murdered Giulio! Not I!—not I!—not I! SFORZA [@3watching her with emotion@1]. Oh, God! how dearly Are bought the proudest triumphs of this world! BIANCA. Will the bell never peal! PRIEST [@3to an@1 ATTENDANT]. On that string only Her mind plays truly now. Her life hangs on it! The waiting for the bell of coronation Is the last link that holds! SFORZA [@3raising her@1]. My much-loved wife! BIANCA. Is it thee, Sforza? Has the bell pealed yet? SFORZA. Think not of that, but take some drink, Bianca! You'll kill me this way! BIANCA [@3dashing down the cup@1]. Think you I'll drink fire! SFORZA. Then taste of this! [@3Offers her a pomegranate.@1] BIANCA [@3laughing bitterly@1]. I'm not a fool! I know The fruit of hell has ashes at the core! Mock me some other way! SFORZA. My poor Bianca! BIANCA. Ha! ha! that's well done! You've the shape of Sforza, And you're a devil, and can mock his voice, But Sforza never spoke so tenderly! You @3overdo@1 it! Ha! ha! ha! SFORZA. God help me, I would her brother had been duke in Milan And I his slave—so she had lived and loved me! BIANCA. Can you see Heaven from hence! I thought 'twas part Of a soul's agony in hell to see The blest afar off? Can I not see Giulio? [@3Struggles, as if to escape something before her eyes.@1] Sforza's between! SFORZA. Bianca! sayst thou that? [@3Struggles with himself a moment.@1] Nay, then, 'tis time to say farewell Ambition! [@3Turns to the@1 PRIEST.] Look, father! I'm unskilled in holy things, But I have heard, the sacrifice of that Which the repenting soul loved more than Heaven, Will work a miracle! [@3Takes his sword from his scabbard, and proceeds in a deeper voice.@1] I love my sword As never mother loved her rosy child! My heart is in its hilt—my life, my soul, Follow it like the light! Say thou dost think If I give that up for a life of peace, Heaven will give back her reason— PRIEST [@3eagerly@1]. Doubt it not! SFORZA. Then—take it! [@3Drops the hilt into his hand, and holds it a moment.@1] SARPELLIONE [@3in a hoarse whisper@1]. Welcome news for King Alfonso! SFORZA [@3starting@1]. Fiend! Sayest thou so! Nay, then, come back, my sword. I'll follow in its gleaming track to Naples If the world perish! @3Enter@1 ROSSANO Now, what news, Rossano? ROSSANO. In answer to your wish, the noble council Consent to see the crown imposed in private, Three delegated lords will presently Attend you here! SFORZA [@3energetically@1]. Tell him who strikes the bell, To look forth from his tower and watch this window! When he shall see a handkerchief wave hence Let him peal out. [ATTENDANT @3goes out.@1] My gonfalon shall float Over St. Mark's before Foscari dreams There's a new duke in Milan! Let Alfonso Look to the north! @3Enter@1 ATTENDANT ATTENDANT. My lord! the noble council Wait to come in! [SFORZA @3waves his hand, and they enter.@1] IST LORD. Health to the noble Sforza! SFORZA. My lords, the deep calamity we suffer Must cut off ceremony. Milan's heiress Lies there before you, failing momently, But holds in life to give away the crown. If you're content to see her put it on me Let it be so as quickly as it may! Give signal for the bell! [@3The handkerchief is waved and the bell peals.@1 BIANCA @3rises to her feet.@1] BIANCA. It peals at last! Where am I? Bring some wine, dear Giulio! [@3Looks round fearfully.@1] Am I awake now! I've been dreaming here That he was dead! Oh, God! a horrid dream! Come hither, Sforza! I have dreamt a dream, If I can tell it you—will make your hair Stand up with horror! SFORZA. Tell it not! BIANCA. This Giulio Was, in my dream, my brother! how I knew it I do not now remember—but I @3did!@1 And loved him—(that you @3know@1 must be a dream) Better than you! SFORZA. What—better? BIANCA. Was't not strange? Being my brother, he must have the crown! Stay?—is my father dead—or was't i' the dream too? SFORZA. He's dead, Bianca! BIANCA. Well, you loved me not, And Giulio @3did@1—and somehow you should hate me If he were duke; and so I killed him, @3loving me,@1 For you that @3loved me not!@1 Is it not strange That we can dream such things? The manner of it— To see it in a play would break your heart— It was so pitiless! Look here! this boy Brings me a heap of flowers!—I'll show it you As it was done before me in the dream! Don't weep! 'twas but a dream—but I'll not sleep Again till I've seen Giulio—the blood seemed So ghastly natural! I shall see it, Sforza, Till I have passed my hand across his side! [@3Turning to the attendants.@1] Will some one call my page? SFORZA. My own Bianca, Will you not drink? [@3She drops the cup in horror.@1] BIANCA. Just such a cup as that Had liquid fire in't when the deed was done— A devil mocked me with it! [@3Another cup is brought, and she drinks.@1] This is wine! Thank God, I wake now! [@3She turns to an attendant.@1] Will you see if Giulio Is in the garden? SFORZA. Strike the bell once more! BIANCA. He kissed me ere he slept—wilt listen, Sforza? SFORZA. Tell me no more, sweet one! BIANCA. And then I heaped The very flowers he brought me, at his feet, To eke his body out as long as yours— Was't not a hellish dream? [@3The bell strikes again, and she covers her ears in horror.@1] That bell! Oh, God, 'Tis no dream—now I know—yes—yes— I know These be the councillors—and you are Sforza, And that's Rossano—and I killed my brother To make you duke! Yes, yes! I see it all! Oh, God! Oh, God! [@3She covers her face, and weeps.@1] SFORZA. My lords! her reason rallies Little by little. With this flood of tears, Her brain's relieved, and she'll give over raving. My wife! Bianca! If thou ever loved'st me, Look on my face! BIANCA. Oh, Sforza, I have given For thy dear love, the eyes I had to see it, The ears to hear it. I have broke my heart In reaching for't. SFORZA. Ay—but 'tis thine @3now,@1 sweet one! The life-drops in my heart are less dear to me! BIANCA. Too late! you've crushed the light out of a gem You did not know the price of! Had you spoken But @3one@1 kind word upon my bridal night! SFORZA. Forgive me, my Bianca! BIANCA. I am parched With thirst now, and my eyes grow faint and dim. Are you here, Sforza? Mourn not for me long! But bury me with Giulio! [@3Starts from him.@1] Hark! I hear His voice now! Do the walls of Paradise Jut over hell? I heard his voice, I say! [@3Strikes off@1 SFORZA, @3who approaches her.@1] Unhand me, devil! You've the shape of one Who upon earth had no heart! Can you take No shape but that? Can you not look like Giulio? [SFORZA @3falls back, struck with remorse.@1] Hark! 'tis his low, imploring voice again— He prays for poor Bianca! And look, see you! The portals stir! Slow, slow—and difficult— [@3Creeps forward with her eyes upward.@1] Pray on, my brother! Pray on, Giulio! I come! [@3Falls on her face.@1] [SFORZA @3drops on his knee, pale and trembling.@1] SFORZA. My soul shrinks with unnatural fear! What heard I then? "Sforza, give up thy sword!" Was it from heaven or hell? [@3Shrinks, as if from some spectre in the air.@1] I will! I will! [@3Holds out his sword as if to the monk, and@1 SARPELLIONE, @3who has been straining forward to watch@1 BIANCA, @3springs suddenly to her side.@1] SARPELLIONE. She's dead! Ha! ha! who's duke in Milan now? [SFORZA @3rises with a bound.@1] SFORZA. Sforza! [@3He flies to the window, and waves the handkerchief. The bell peals out, and as he rushes to@1 BIANCA, @3she moves, lifts her head, looks wildly around, and struggles to her feet.@1 ROSSANO @3gives her the crown—she looks an instant smilingly on@1 SFORZA, @3and with a difficult b ut calm effort places it on his head. All drop on one knee to do allegiance, and as@1 SFORZA @3lifts himself to his loftiest height, with a look of triumph at@1 SARPELLIONE, BIANCA @3sinks dead at his feet.@1] [@3Curtain falls.@1] | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FETES GALANTES: PANYOMIME by PAUL VERLAINE SEVEN TIMES FOUR [ - MATERNITY] by JEAN INGELOW THE HUNTER AND THE MILKMAID by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER MISUNDERSTANDINGS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN CHRIST, THE DREAMER by KARL M. CHWOROWSKY |