SCENE IV

_The Palace at Ferrara._

_The_ DUCHESS LUCREZIA BORGIA D’ESTE, _dressed in mourning, in a small room. She is feeding birds._

LUCREZIA.

My doves, My little, gladsome ones.... Rodrigo!... My little Roman dove, my young, a softness Still to my bosom.... And this father-- His love to me, and all the streams of pearls! They have not honourably buried him; They are not sorry. [_She weeps._ I have prayed so long: I have been angry. In my dreams I prayed; And then he broke it, for he came to me, His lips bulged out for kisses: “Dance, Lucrece, Dance to me, child; it is that grace prevails!”

[_After a pause--to the doves._

There, there! Fly out! There! Flutter on my shoulder, And let me catch you. Father, do you mark, I am not weeping?--See, how they all settle About me, on my head, and on my bosom-- See, how I rise and flutter them!

[_She rises and the doves disperse from her in troops._

How lightsome They come back to their roost! Dear Blessèdness, And this will give you peace....

[_Suddenly she bows her golden head; the doves flutter down on it in a halo._