a!

_Lucetta._ My mistress swoons!

_A Courtier._ 'Tis happiness--

_Duke._ Fetch water!

_Lucio._ Nay this blood--
Came of no scratch!

_Lucetta._ Loosen her bodice--

_Duke._ Blood?
Why blood? Where's blood?

(_Stares as the mantle is imclasped and falls open_).
Ah, my God!

_Lucetta._ Murder! murder!
The Countess Fulvia--

_Cesario._ Speak!

_Lucetta._ There--while she knelt--
Stabbed her, and fled.

_Cesario._ Which way?

[_Lucetta points to the stairs. He dashes off in
pursuit._

_Duke._ All-seeing God!
Where were thine eyes, or else thy justice? Dead?
O, never dead!

_Lucio._ Ay, Duke, push God aside,
As I push thee. I have the better right:
I killed her--I. O never pass, sweet soul,
Till thou hast drunk a shudder of this wretch,
Thy brother, playmate, murderer!

_Duke._ Wine! bring wine--

_Regent_ (_as the wine is brought and revives her_).
Flower, he will crush thee--but the bliss, the bliss!
I swim in bliss. What ... Lucio? Where's my lord?
Dear, bring him: he was here awhile and held me.
Say he must hold, or the light air will lift
And bear me quite away.

[_Re-enter Cesario. In one hand he carries his
sword, in the other a dagger._

_Lucio._ Cesario!
What! Is that devil escaped? To think--to think
I drank her kisses!--What? Where is she?

_Cesario._ Dead.
I raised the cry: the people pointed after;
Ran with me, ravening. Just this side the bridge
She heard our howl and turned--drew back the dagger
Red with our lady's blood, then drove it home
Clean to her own black heart.

_Regent._ God pardon her!
I would what blood of mine clung to the blade
Might mix with hers and sweeten it for mercy.

_Lucio._ Will you forgive her? Then forgive not me!

_Regent._ Dear Lucio!--You'll not pluck away your hand
This time? Hush! Where's Cesario?... Friend, farewell.
Where lies the body?

_Cesario._ Sooth, madonna, I flung it
To the river's will, to roll it down to sea
Or cast on muddy bar, for dogs to gnaw.

_Regent._ The river? Ah! How strong the river rolls!
Hold me, my lord--

_Duke._ Love, love, I hold you

_Regent._--Ay!
The child, too--You will hold the child?...
This roar
Deafens but will not drown us.

[_Within the Chapel the choir is chanting a dirge.
Gamba goes and closes the door on the sound:
then creeps to the foot of the couch. The
dying woman gently motions aside the cross
a priest is holding to her, and lo