PAOLO. No; enough! I will not load my groaning spirit more; A lie would crush it.
LANCIOTTO. Brother, once you gave Life to this wretched piece of workmanship, When my own hand resolved its overthrow. Revoke the gift. [_Offers to stab himself._
PAOLO. [_Preventing him._] Hold, homicide!
LANCIOTTO. But think, You and Francesca may live happily, After my death, as only lovers can.
PAOLO. Live happily, after a deed like this!
LANCIOTTO. Now, look ye! there is not one hour of life Among us three. Paolo, you are armed-- You have a sword, I but a dagger: see! I mean to kill you.
FRANCESCA. [_Whispers to_ PAOLO.] Give thy sword to me.
PAOLO. Away! thou'rt frantic. I will never lift This wicked hand against thee.
LANCIOTTO. Coward, slave! Art thou so faint? Does Malatesta's blood Run in thy puny veins? Take that! [_Strikes him._
PAOLO. And more: Thou canst not offer more than I will bear.
LANCIOTTO. Paolo, what a craven has thy guilt Transformed thee to! Why, I have seen the time When thou'dst have struck at heaven for such a thing! Art thou afraid?
LANCIOTTO. O! infamy! Can man sink lower? I will wake thee, though:-- Thou shalt not die a coward. See! look here! [_Stabs_ FRANCESCA.
PAOLO. Remorseless man, dare you do this, And hope to live? Die, murderer! [_Draws, rushes at him, but pauses._
LANCIOTTO. Strike, strike! Ere thy heart fail.
PAOLO. I cannot. [_Throws away his sword._
LANCIOTTO. Dost thou see Yon bloated spider--hideous as myself-- Climbing aloft, to reach that wavering twig? When he has touched it, one of us must die. Here is the dagger.--Look at me, I say! Keep your eyes from that woman! Look, think, choose!-- Turn here to me: thou shalt not look at her!
PAOLO. [_Struggling with him._] O! Lanciotto, hold! Hold, for thy sake! Thou wilt repent this deed.
FRANCESCA. [_Rising._] Help!--O! murder!--help, help, help! [_She totters towards them, and falls._
LANCIOTTO. Our honour, boy. [_Stabs_ PAOLO; _he falls._
PAOLO. Hark! she calls. I pray thee, brother, help me to her side.
LANCIOTTO. Have I not done well? What were the honour of the Malatesti, With such a living slander fixed to it? Cripple! that's something--cuckold! that is damned! You blame me?
LANCIOTTO. May God forgive you! We are even now: Your blood has cleared my honour, and our name Shines to the world as ever.