54 
MORTADELLO 
 
Speeding upon the darkmans road to their fell work ! 
I have seen such. 
LUCREZIA.   
 
So is my thought.  How should I speak 
To you, all love of lilies wrought ? 
MONICA. 
 
Give me your cheek 
I’ll kiss your fear away, sweet girl.  I’ll whisper things 
Subtler than basilisks that furl and fold their wings 
Over the serpent-heart.  I guess your heart’s desire. 
Bend to me closer.  Whisper yes. 
LUCREZIA. 
My brain’s afire. 
MONICA.  Then whisper. 
LUCREZIA. 
I dare not. 
MONICA. 
Oh dare ! 
LUCREZIA. 
My friend ! 
MONICA. 
 
Ah yes ! 
She whose black envy would not spare your loveliness ! 
LUCREZIA.  Ay, she ! 
MONICA. 
But let me see the wound.  I have a charm 
By a wise hermit well attuned to heal the harm. 
Fie !  what a scar !  But what a breast its hate caresses ! 
Is not this nipple like the crest of Etna ?  Tresses 
Of gold.  Let down your locks ;  let fall, Lucrezia, let 
Their sunshine kindle mine, a pall of snaky jet ! 
My mouth is thin like Saturn’s ring, your mouth is red 
As Mars, a sword, a snake to sting, a sun to shed 
Life on all wanderers in the maze of love, a moon 
To curve, and Venus’ self to craze. 
LUCREZIA. 
O tender tune ! 
You know the secret of all sweetness. 
MONICA. 
No ! ’tis you 
Who are too fair.