Chapter 14
Enter Queen, Malateste.
QUEEN Must then his trul <57> be once more sphered in court To triumph in my spoils, in my eclipses? And I like moping Juno sit, whilst Jove Varies his lust into five hundred shapes To steal to his whore's bed! No Malateste, Italian fires of Jealousy burn my marrow. For to delude my hopes, the lecherous king Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage, To cover his incontinence, which flames Hot, as my fury, in his black desires. I am swollen big with child of vengeance now, And till delivered, feel the throws of hell.
MALATESTE Just is your imagination, high and noble, And the brave heat of a true Florentine: For Spain trumpets abroad her interest In the King's heart, and with a black coal draws On every wall your scoffed at injuries, As one that has the refuse of her sheets, And the sick Autumn of the weakened King, Where she drunk pleasures up in the full spring.
QUEEN That, Malateste, that, that torrent wracks me. But Hymen's torch, held downward, shall drop out, And for it, the mad Furies swing their brands About the bride-chamber.
MALATESTE The priest that joins them, Our twin born malediction.
QUEEN Loud it may speak.
MALATESTE The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way, Be cypress, eugh, cold colliquintida. <58>
QUEEN Herbane and poppy, and that magical weed Which hags at midnight watch to catch the seed. <59>
MALATESTE To these our execrations, and what mischief Hell can but hatch in a distracted brain, I'll be the executioner, though it look So horrid it can fright even murder back.
QUEEN Poison his whore today, for thou shalt wait On the King's cup, and when heated with wine He calls to drink the bride's health, marry her Alive to a gaping grave.
MALATESTE At board?
QUEEN At board.
MALATESTE When she being guarded round about with friends, Like a fairy land, hemmed with rocks and seas, What rescue shall I find?
QUEEN Mine arms. Dost faint? Stood all the Pyrenean hills that part Spain and our country, on each others shoulders, Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou should'st on, As being my steel of resolution, First striking sparkles from my flinty breast. Wert thou to catch the horses of the sun Fast by their bridles, and to turn back day, Would'st thou not do it, base coward, to make way To the Italians second bliss, revenge?
MALATESTE Were my bones threatened to the wheel of torture I'll do it.
Enter Lopez.
QUEEN A raven's voice, and it likes me well.
LOPEZ The King expects your presence.
MALATESTE So, so we come. To turn this bride's day to a day of doom.
Exeunt.