from The Changeling

f
Deflores. What makes your lip so strange? This must not be betwixt us.
Beatrice. The man talks wildly.
Deflores. Come kisse me with a zeal now.
Beatrice. Heaven I doubt him.
Deflores. I will not stand so long to beg 'em shortly.
Beatrice. Take heed Deflores of forgetfulness, 'twill soon betray us.
Deflores. Take you heed first;
Faith y'are grown much forgetfull, y'are to blame in't.
Beatrice. He's bold, and I am blam'd for't.
Deflores. I have eas'd you of your trouble, think on't, I'me in pain,
And must be as'd of ou; 'tis a charity,
Justice invites your blood to understand me.
Beatrice. I dare not.
Deflores. Quickly.
Beatrice. Oh I never shall, speak if yet further of that I may lose
What has been spoken, and no sound remain on't.
would not hear so much offence again for such another deed.
Deflores. Soft, Lady, soft; the last is not yet paid for, oh this act
Has put me into spirit; I was as greedy on't
As the parcht earth of moisture when the clouds weep.
Did you ot mark, I wrought my self into't.
Nay sued, and kneel'd for't: Why was all that pains took?
You see I have thrown contempt upon your gold,
Not that I want it, for I doe piteously,
In order I will come unto't, and make use on't,
But 'twas not held so pretious to begin with;
For I place wealth after the heels of pleasure,
And where I not resolv'd in my belief
That thy virginity were perfect in thee,
I should but take my recompense with grudging,
As if I had but halfe my hopes I agreed for.
Beatrice. Why 'tis impossible thou canst be so wicked,
Or shelter such a cunning cruelty,
To make his death the murderer of my honor.
Thy language is so bold and vitious,
I cannot see which way I can forgive it with any modesty.
Deflores. Push, you forget your selfe, a woman dipt in blood, and talk of modesty.
Beatrice. O misery of sin! would I had been bound Perpetually unto my living hate
In that Piracquo, then to hear these words.
Think but upon the distance that Creation
Set 'twixt thy blood and mine, and keep thee there.
Deflores. Look but into your conscience, read me there,
'Tis a true Book, you'l find me there your equall:
Push, flye not to your birth, but settle you
In what the act has made you, y'are no more now,
You must forget your parentage to me,
Y'are the deeds creature, by that name
You lost your first condition, and I challenge you,
As peace and innocency has turn'd you out,
And made you one with me.
Beatrice. With thee, foul villain?
Deflores. Yes, my fair murdress; Do you urge me?
Though thou wri'st maid, thou whore in thy affection,
'Twas chang'd from thy first love, and that's a kind
Of whoredome in thy heart, and he's chang'd now,
To bring thy second on the Alsemero,
Whom 'by all sweets that ever darkness tasted,
If I enjoy thee not thou ne're enjoyst,
I'le blast the hopes and joyes of marriage,
I'le confess all, my life I rate at nothing.
Beatrice. Deflores.
Deflores. I shall rest from all lovers plagues then,
I live in pain now: that shooting eye
Will burn my heart to cinders.
Beatrice. O sir, hear me.
Deflores. She that in life and love refuses me,
In death and shame my partner she shall be.
Beatrice. Stay, hear me once for all, I make thee master
Of all the wealth I have in gold and jewels,
Let me go poor unto my bed with honor,
And i am rich in all things.
Deflores. Let this silence thee,
The wealth of all Valentia shall not buy my pleasure from me,
Can you weep Fate from its determin'd purpose?
So soon may weep me.
Beatrice. Vengeance begins;
Murder I see is followed by more sins.
Was my creation in the womb so curst,
It must ingender with a Viper first?
Deflores. Come, rise, and shrowd your blushes in my bosome,
Silence is one of pleasures best receipts:
Thy peace is wrought for ever in this yeelding.
'Lasse how the Turtle pants! Thou'lt love anon,
What thou so fear'st, and faintst to venture on.
Exeunt.
(Act III, scene iv)

Enter Deflores bringing in Beatrice
Deflores. Here we are, if you have any more
To say to us, speak quickly, I shall not,
Give you the hearing else, I am so stout yet,
and so I think that broken rib of mankind.
Vermandero. An Host of enemies entred my Citadell,
Could not amaze like this, Joanna, Beatrice, Joanna.
Beatrice. O come not neer me sir, I shall defile you,
I am that of your blood was taken from you
For your better health, look no more upon't,
But cast it to the ground regardlessly,
Let the common shewer take it from distinction,
Beneath the starres, upon yon Meteor
Ever hang my fate, 'mongst things corruptible,
I ne're could pluck ti from him, my loathing
Was Prophet to the rest, but ne're believ'd
Mine honour fell with him, and now my life.
Alsemero, I am a stranger to your bed,
Your bed was coz'ned on the nuptiall night,
For which your false-bride died.
Alfermero. Diaphanta?
Deflores. Yes, and the while I coupled with your mate
At barly-break; now we are left in hell.
Vermandero. We are all there, it circumscribes here.
Deflores. I lov'd this woman in spite of her heart,
Her love I earn'd out of Piracquos murder.
Tomaso. Ha, my brothers murtherer.
Deflores. Yes, and her honors prize
Was my reward, I thank life for nothing
But that pleasure, it was so sweet to me,
That I have drunk up all, left none behinde,
For any man to pledge me.
(Act V, scene iii)



61
Rating:

Comment form:

*Max text - 500. Manual moderation.

Similar Poems:

from Aurora Leigh, Second Book by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

'There it is!–
You play beside a death-bed like a child,
Yet measure to yourself a prophet's place
To teach the living. None of all these things,
Can women understand. You generalise,
Oh, nothing!–not even grief! Your quick-breathed hearts,
So sympathetic to the personal pang,
Read Poem
0
66
Rating:

Venus and Adonis by William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face
Had ta’en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek’d Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov’d, but love he laugh’d to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac’d suitor ‘gins to woo him.

‘Thrice fairer than myself,’ thus she began,
Read Poem
0
110
Rating:

Madeleine in Church by Charlotte Mew
Charlotte Mew
Here, in the darkness, where this plaster saint
Stands nearer than God stands to our distress,
And one small candle shines, but not so faint
As the far lights of everlastingness,
I’d rather kneel than over there, in open day
Where Christ is hanging, rather pray
To something more like my own clay,
Not too divine;
Read Poem
0
83
Rating:

The Description of Cooke-ham by Æmilia Lanyer
Æmilia Lanyer
Farewell (sweet Cooke-ham) where I first obtained
Grace from that grace where perfect grace remained;
And where the muses gave their full consent,
I should have power the virtuous to content;
Where princely palace willed me to indite,
The sacred story of the soul’s delight.
Farewell (sweet place) where virtue then did rest,
And all delights did harbor in her breast;
Never shall my sad eyes again behold
Those pleasures which my thoughts did then unfold.
Yet you (great Lady) Mistress of that place,
From whose desires did spring this work of grace;
Vouchsafe to think upon those pleasures past,
As fleeting worldly joys that could not last,
Or, as dim shadows of celestial pleasures,
Read Poem
0
80
Rating:

Andrea del Sarto by Robert Browning
Robert Browning
But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,—but to-morrow, Love!
I often am much wearier than you think,
This evening more than usual, and it seems
As if—forgive now—should you let me sit
Here by the window with your hand in mine
And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole,
Read Poem
0
110
Rating:

The Complaint of Lisa by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
(Double Sestina)

DECAMERON, x. 7 There is no woman living that draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Read Poem
0
80
Rating:

A Dialogue between Old England and New by Anne Bradstreet
Anne Bradstreet
New England.
Alas, dear Mother, fairest Queen and best,
With honour, wealth, and peace happy and blest,
What ails thee hang thy head, and cross thine arms,
And sit i’ the dust to sigh these sad alarms?
What deluge of new woes thus over-whelm
The glories of thy ever famous Realm?
What means this wailing tone, this mournful guise?
Ah, tell thy Daughter; she may sympathize.

Old England.
Art ignorant indeed of these my woes,
Or must my forced tongue these griefs disclose,
And must my self dissect my tatter’d state,
Which Amazed Christendom stands wondering at?
Read Poem
0
57
Rating:

The Triumph of Time by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Before our lives divide for ever,
While time is with us and hands are free,
(Time, swift to fasten and swift to sever
Hand from hand, as we stand by the sea)
I will say no word that a man might say
Whose whole life's love goes down in a day;
For this could never have been; and never,
Though the gods and the years relent, shall be.

Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,
To think of things that are well outworn?
Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower,
The dream foregone and the deed forborne?
Though joy be done with and grief be vain,
Time shall not sever us wholly in twain;
Read Poem
0
120
Rating:

Wildflowers by Richard Howard
Richard Howard
for Joseph Cady

Camden, 1882 Is it raining, Mary, can you see?
Read Poem
0
101
Rating: