Poems, translated and original

_A street._--_Enter_ CONTARINI _and_ STENO.

Contarini. Know you his name?

Steno. Antonio Foscarini. The same whom you a short time since despatched On the embassy to Switzerland.

Contarini. So soon Returned?

Steno. Some private cause of haste, it seems, Hath brought him hither. But a few days past, I know, he was not here.

Contarini. Well--trace him out, He’s desperate--and should be removed. Mark you?

Steno. Signor, ’tis done.

Contarini. Be wary--but be speedy. [_Exit_ STENO.

_Enter_ FIORILLA.

A lady! I must smooth this troubled brow, For such fair meeting.

Fiorilla. Well--my lord--

Contarini. Fiorilla!

Fiorilla. Am I so changed, that you scarce know me, sir? Then doth my mirror flatter, for it tells me Of features yet unaltered; and in truth They might be--for short space of time hath passed Since we last met.

Contarini. They are all radiant still With beauty--and would be, though years had striven To steal some charm away. But those few days Have wrought a change in me. I’m wedded--lady.

Fiorilla. Wedded? Aye, I have heard the tale--but sooth, It dwelt not in my mind. These idle rumors, You know, my lord, even when they merit credence, So lightly pass us by--we scarce are wont To give them heed!

Contarini. And yet I hoped once, lady, Fiorilla would not heedlessly have listened To aught that spoke of me!

Fiorilla. Ha! ha!

Contarini. My bride-- You have not seen her! Oh! her gentle beauty Might rival yours!

Fiorilla. Indeed!

Contarini. The rose perchance Upon her cheek wears not a bloom so rich; Her brow may be less haughty--but ’tis moulded In form as perfect.

Fiorilla. Gallant cavalier! Why in seclusion veil such matchless charms?

Contarini. She seeks it.

Fiorilla. Undisturbed to muse, no doubt, On you, to greet you with a dearer welcome When you invade her solitude. Happy bridegroom! Whom no tormenting sprite of jealousy Can haunt! whose treasured flower will yield its sweets To him alone--none other!

Contarini. She would jest; Yet plays a smile too mocking on her lips For courtesy!--Fiorilla--

Fiorilla. Nay, my lord-- I would not that your gracious words be wasted On one so worthless, when far dearer cares Await you at your home. Your lady, doubtless, Mourns for your absence; or--perchance I err, Invokes the aid of some more courteous knight To while away the hours.

Contarini. Ha!

Fiorilla. Only, signor, A substitute. When the proud sun withdraws His beams, we hail the star--less bright indeed, That cheers the gloom.--Methinks I saw but now Young Foscarini.--Ho! there.--

_Enter_ MARCO.

Farewell my lord--I’ll not detain you longer--

[_Exit_ CONTARINI.

Let him go ponder on my words. Hence, Marco, Seek Loredano, and entreat his presence Now, at my house. [_Exit_ MARCO.] I will no longer pause But strike the blow, and win a swift revenge! [_Exit._