_Liv._ My father saith Margaret will marry Rosso.
_Bl._ Rosso! Rosso be hanged! ’Tis John Palicio.
_Bl._ I’ll tell thee. Hark.—Was he not concealed in Manuel’s house?
_Bl._ And escaping from his house by night, The next day where was Margaret?
_Bl._ And then 2190 ’Twas she betrayed the rebels.
_Bl._ We traced The little book to her servant.
_Bl._ Nay: it explains why all the names were there, Only not his.
_Liv._ But then ... nay, why should he Surrender?
_Bl._ That’s but madness any way. But now she comes demanding his deliverance.
_Liv._ Ay, she doth. O, the villain! he shall die.
_Bl._ He shall; but hark, I have promised Margaret To set Palicio free at nine to-morrow. Say that we go together. Margaret comes 2200 To see her lover freed. Her we will take And keep confined until his execution; Which for our purpose may be hurried on. Or if ...
_Liv._ Stay; why this promise? In the course Of justice he must die.
_Bl._ Not so. My promise To set him free was made for two good reasons. First hearing thou hadst offered her the like: Next for the knowledge that on my refusal She could find other means. Beside all which She bargains to restore me certain letters 2210 I sent her years ago, which I confess I am now ashamed of: (_aside._)—Any lie will serve To smooth this idiot.—These she brings with her, And I can take them from her. My object gained I hand her o’er to thee. For all her scorns Repay her as thou wilt.
_Bl._ Nay, I can secure thee. Come. [_Exeunt._
_Dungeon of the Palace. PALICIO discovered. A door at back of prison is_ L. _of centre_.
I cannot think of death. Imagination Is barren on that point, and hath no picture;— To be so near should better prick the fancy.— 2220 I see a grave—but stand beside the grave ... Nothing.—And yet I am so near.—I judge From this how dizzily deep rides the division ’Twixt this world and the next; tho’ in Time’s face ’Tis thin, ay, more invisibly sharp than is The axe’s edge, which makes it.—Is our life’s stuff So different? All the joys and hopes of earth Wrought of too coarse a fibre to invest An inkling of that other unseen world, Which hath this only entrance? Wherefore my mind Wanders in wasteful contemplation back 2231 O’er what I have done, pitifully seeking To wear renewed the robe of those proud deeds, To dream again her disappointed dreams; And over all is Margaret, ever Margaret; Floating before these vain soul-treacherous eyes,— My tempter and tormentor.