_Rizzio._ Pah-ho! peril? Now, Scylla and the Sibyl and Charybdis! What megrim have you had?
_Bianca._ None--for doubting; Or any, it matters not, if you will go, And quickly, trusting reason--as you boast to; For I have heard--
_Bianca._ There was one here who said Monsignor Querio Knows of your excommunicant delight In books that are forbid-- And ... of your heresies!
_Porzia_ (_in quick dismay_). The Inquisition! You mean--he may be sought by it and seized, Held in the trammels of it for a truth That...! Do you mean, Bianca, Osio, That now, at any hour--?... Oh, he must go!
[_The gate opens and Matteo entering stops amazed and alarmed._
_Rizzio_ (_with laughing relief_). Now, now, do you not see your apprehension! Is Matteo the Inquisition! Is He then the prison that has come to seize me? Fie, fie, Bianca, with your fears that mar Again the bridal beauty of this hour, And crowd with quiverings the bliss of it! No more of them!--(_to dancers_) Hither! and wind your maze! Again take up the dance!
_Porzia._ No, Rizzio, no! For now delight would die under our feet, And we but trample on it! No! Dismiss them Back now to Capri!... More than the woman fear within me warns it. For you have been o'er bold--not vainly, nay, For truth, I know, must dare--but there may be More in this than you think.
_Rizzio._ And ere it rises I cravenly must quench the altar-fires That I attend--and our half-wedded joys? No! no! More revels! Till we shall utterly uncloud our bliss And leave remembrance not a stain upon it! A song, Tasso, a song! The taunting one that swept us into laughter! How runs it? did it not begin with Naples? (_Recalls it._)
Naples sins and Torre pays, (Torre del Greco!) Who fears the earthquake all her days! (Torre del Greco!) Who....
Who sits beneath Vesuvius And shrives the castaways of us! Naples sins and Torre pays, (Torre del Greco!)
_Tasso_ (_who has stood shrinking_). Ah, Signor, no; I fear; I cannot; pray Your pardon. I must go.
_Tasso._ I would not Offend the Church--who is the Bride of Christ.
_Rizzio_ (_unaffected_). Then off with you, unworthy follower Of Virgil, And of fire-veined Ariosto,-- Of singers who have flung their hearts to courage, As yet we shall fling ours! (_Tasso goes._) For even Bianca And Osio Must rue now their alarm, And help us back from it to revelry.