The Duchess of Padua. Wilde OscarЧитать онлайн книгу.

      We will see

      That you are furnished with such equipage

      As doth befit your honour and our state.

      I thank your Grace most heartily.

      Tell me again

      What is your name?

      Guido Ferranti, sir.

      And you are Mantuan?  Look to your wives, my lords,

      When such a gallant comes to Padua.

      Thou dost well to laugh, Count Bardi; I have noted

      How merry is that husband by whose hearth

      Sits an uncomely wife.

      May it please your Grace,

      The wives of Padua are above suspicion.

      What, are they so ill-favoured!  Let us go,

      This Cardinal detains our pious Duchess;

      His sermon and his beard want cutting both:

      Will you come with us, sir, and hear a text

      From holy Jerome?

      My liege, there are some matters —

      Thou need’st make no excuse for missing mass.

      Come, gentlemen.

      So the Duke sold my father;

      I kissed his hand.

      Thou shalt do that many times.

      Must it be so?

      Ay! thou hast sworn an oath.

      That oath shall make me marble.

      Farewell, boy,

      Thou wilt not see me till the time is ripe.

      I pray thou comest quickly.

      I will come

      When it is time; be ready.

      Fear me not.

      Here is your friend; see that you banish him

      Both from your heart and Padua.

      From Padua,

      Not from my heart.

      Nay, from thy heart as well,

      I will not leave thee till I see thee do it.

      Can I have no friend?

      Revenge shall be thy friend;

      Thou need’st no other.

      Well, then be it so.

      Come, Guido, I have been beforehand with you in everything, for I have drunk a flagon of wine, eaten a pasty, and kissed the maid who served it. Why, you look as melancholy as a schoolboy who cannot buy apples, or a politician who cannot sell his vote. What news, Guido, what news?

      Why, that we two must part, Ascanio.

      That would be news indeed, but it is not true.

      Too true it is, you must get hence, Ascanio,

      And never look upon my face again.

      No, no; indeed you do not know me, Guido;

      ’Tis true I am a common yeoman’s son,

      Nor versed in fashions of much courtesy;

      But, if you are nobly born, cannot I be

      Your serving man?  I will tend you with more love

      Than any hired servant.

      Ascanio!

      It cannot be.

      What, is it so with you?

      I thought the friendship of the antique world

      Was not yet dead, but that the Roman type

      Might even in this poor and common age

      Find counterparts of love; then by this love

      Which beats between us like a summer sea,

      Whatever lot has fallen to your hand

      May I not share it?

      Share it?

      Ay!

      No, no.

      Have you then come to some inheritance

      Of lordly castle, or of stored-up gold?

      Ay! I have come to my inheritance.

      O bloody legacy! and O murderous dole!

      Which, like the thrifty miser, must I hoard,

      And to my own self keep; and so, I pray you,

      Let us part here.

      What, shall we never more

      Sit hand in hand, as we were wont to sit,

      Over some book of ancient chivalry

      Stealing a truant holiday from school,

      Follow the huntsmen through the autumn woods,

      And watch the falcons burst their tasselled jesses,

      When the hare breaks from covert.

      Never more.

      Must