Because you are of well-assured means
And gentle birth, he will be rude with you.
Not without base is the deep grudge he owes
To riches and prosperity.
LORENZO.
Signora,
Why do I bear such harsh, injurious terms
As he affronts me with? Why must I seem
In mine own eyes a craven ? Spiritless,
Dishonorably patient? ’T is not his fame,
His power, his gift, his venerable years
That bind me here his willing slave. Maria,
’T is thou, ’t is thou alone! ’T is that I love thee,
And exile hence is death !
{A pause. He kneels at Tier feet. She looks at him
kindly but makes no reply.
At thy dear feet
I lay my life with its most loyal service,
The subject of thy pleasure.
MARIA (tenderly).
You are too humble.
LORENZO.
Too humble! Do you seek mine utter ruin,
With words whose very tone is a caress?
I will say all. I love you!—you have known it.
Why should I tell you? Yet, to-day you seem
Other than you havo been. A milder light
