82 
MORTADELLO 
 
MORTADELLO.  You might have ruled alone in Venice—
who’s above you ? 
MONICA.  A cold distasteful throne—I tell you that I love you. 
And then I am afraid of what the Pope may say 
About the prank I played on you the other day. 
And then—my smile might fall too sudden to a sob. 
I don’t care that [she makes a gesture of contempt] for all 
the favour of the mob. 
Your friends have real power ;  mine’s but the power of 
storm. 
It’s over in an hour ;  your sun is always warm. 
MORTADELLO.  If it were so, I think you would not be so 
frank. 
MONICA.  Yes, but I shall not sink ;  you make a perfect plank. 
This hour is mine ;  and this shall breed me many more. 
Your Charon-fee’s a kiss—and I shall come to shore. 
MORTADELLO.  I would as soon espouse a trull upon the 
quays. 
MONICA.  My beauty can arouse no kinder thoughts than 
these ? 
Ah, but, my lord, you must forget the past, forgive 
The wrong.  Love springs from lust. 
MORTADELLO. 
 
There’s an alternative. 
MONICA.  O not for you !  Look here, this budding breast of 
mine ! 
Here bleeds yet from the spear that slew my God and thine 
Its wound.  O fond and fierce !  Rude Roman, happiest ? 
Have you no spear to pierce—oh not the baby breast ? 
MORTADELLO.  I tremble with disgust—thing infinitely 
loathed !