Your eyes full of rheum Have against Beauty closed their filmy doors, And your clogged ears, losing their natural sense, Have shut you from the music of the world. You talk of love! You know not what it is.

MORANZONE

Oh, in my time, boy, have I walked i’ the moon, Swore I would live on kisses and on blisses, Swore I would die for love, and did not die, Wrote love bad verses; ay, and sung them badly, Like all true lovers: Oh, I have done the tricks! I know the partings and the chamberings; We are all animals at best, and love Is merely passion with a holy name.

GUIDO

Now then I know you have not loved at all. Love is the sacrament of life; it sets Virtue where virtue was not; cleanses men Of all the vile pollutions of this world; It is the fire which purges gold from dross, It is the fan which winnows wheat from chaff, It is the spring which in some wintry soil Makes innocence to blossom like a rose. The days are over when God walked with men, But Love, which is his image, holds his place. When a man loves a woman, then he knows God’s secret, and the secret of the world. There is no house so lowly or so mean, Which, if their hearts be pure who live in it, Love will not enter; but if bloody murder Knock at the Palace gate and is let in, Love like a wounded thing creeps out and dies. This is the punishment God sets on sin. The wicked cannot love. [A groan comes from the DUKE’s chamber.] Ah! What is that? Do you not hear? ’Twas nothing. So I think That it is woman’s mission by their love To save the souls of men: and loving her, My Lady, my white Beatrice, I begin To see a nobler and a holier vengeance In letting this man live, than doth reside In bloody deeds o’ night, stabs in the dark, And young hands clutching at a palsied throat. It was, I think, for love’s sake that Lord Christ, Who was indeed himself incarnate Love, Bade every man forgive his enemy.

MORANZONE

[sneeringly] That was in Palestine, not Padua; And said for saints: I have to do with men.

GUIDO

It was for all time said.

MORANZONE

And your white Duchess, What will she do to thank you?

GUIDO

Alas, I will not see her face again. ’Tis but twelve hours since I parted from her, So suddenly, and with such violent passion, That she has shut her heart against me now: No, I will never see her.

MORANZONE

What will you do?

GUIDO

After that I have laid the dagger there, Get hence to-night from Padua.

MORANZONE

And then?

GUIDO

I will take service with the Doge at Venice, And bid him pack me straightway to the wars, And there I will, being now sick of life, Throw that poor life against some desperate spear. [A groan from the DUKE’S chamber again.] Did you not hear a voice?

MORANZONE

I always hear, From the dim confines of some sepulchre, A voice that cries for vengeance. We waste time, It will be morning soon; are you resolved You will not kill the Duke?

GUIDO

I am resolved.

MORANZONE

O wretched father, lying unavenged.

GUIDO

More wretched, were thy son a murderer.

MORANZONE

Why, what is life?

GUIDO

I do not know, my lord, I did not give it, and I dare not take it.