BERTUCCIO.
'T is done!
MANFREDI.
Away all,—to my garden house,
There to bestow our prize!
BERTUCCIO.
Now, Malatesta,
[Shaking his fist at the house.
Learn what it is to wake and find her gone
That was the pride and joy of your dim eyes,—
The comfort of your age! I welcome you
To the blank hearth,—the hunger of the soul,—
The long dark days and miserable nights!
These you gave me; I give them back to you!
I, the despised, deformed, dishonoured jester,
Have reached up to your crown and pulled it down,
And flung it in the mire, as you flung mine!
Now, murdered innocent, thou art avenged!
But I have private wrongs, too, to repay;
This proud Manfredi,—he you spat upon,
He you spurned such a day, set in the stocks,
Whipped,—he is even with your mightiness!
Here is Francesca's ring , and here the letter,
To tell her that her vengeance, too, is ripe.
The blow shall come from her , but mine's the hand
That guides the dagger's point straight to his heart!
I cannot sleep! I'll walk the night away;
It is no night for me,—my day has come! [Exit, R.
