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The bountiful profusion of a tongue
Well stored with courteous words.

TORTONA.

Nay, rather say,

A tongue that is of all expression beggar'd,
That can the inward sentiments declare
Which your angelic presence still inspires.

(Pointing to Sophera.) This lady knows how deep, how true they are.

She did refuse, yet, ne'ertheless, I trust

She bore my secret message to your ear.

SOPHERA.

'T was well for you I did not, good my Lord;

You had not else, I trow, found entrance here.

COUNTESS.

It had, in truth, prevented this presumption.

A secret message, saidst thou, for the ear
Of Garcio's wife!

TORTONA.

And does the man who quits thee,—

Like a dull dolt such heavenly beauty quits,—
Deserve the name of husband? No, sweet Marg'ret;
Gloze not to me thy secret wrongs; I know,
Full well I know them; nor shall formal names
And senseless ties my ardent love repel.
(Catching hold of her hand.)