Mortadello

OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 53 LUCREZIA. The Angel of Venice prays. Dear God, what rich perfume Must flood the starry ways, a fragrant lily-bloom ! Dare I disturb the wreaths that curl toward God ? MONICA. Amen ! LUCREZIA. How like a babe she breathes ! MONICA. [Rising and going to greet LUCREZIA.] What news from Venice then ? Why, my Lucrezia, you are fair ! The wound is healed ? Why, well, then ! Do we still despair to take the field ? LUCREZIA. Still in his iron gauntlet gripped the city squirms. MONICA. Then Mortadello has not slipped off to the worms ? No ? All the better in the end ! Your eyes shall blaze With a new light. Ay ! foe and friend in stunned amaze Shall see a slight not Christendom saw yet ! Now then, Where is Orlando ? Will he come, black pearl of men ? LUCREZIA. He comes to greet your Highness. MONICA. Now ? LUCREZIA. He is on the way. MONICA. Then there’s good hope. Not vain the vow ! LUCREZIA. Oh !—if I may !— While we await him, let me ask your aid in turn. MONICA. Could I refuse you aught ? LUCREZIA. The task is strange and stern. Have you seen an arrow dipped in mud, whose venom’s worth A thousand fold its bulk of blood ? MONICA. Ay, marshy earth Fed by the hydra, by the toad, where witches lurk,