I shall be well content if on my conscience 80
There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer
From the devices of my love—­a net
From which he shall escape not.  Yet I fear
Her subtle mind, her awe-inspiring gaze,
Whose beams anatomize me nerve by nerve 85
And lay me bare, and make me blush to see
My hidden thoughts.—­Ah, no!  A friendless girl
Who clings to me, as to her only hope:—­
I were a fool, not less than if a panther
Were panic-stricken by the antelope’s eye, 90
If she escape me.

NOTE: 
75 vassal edition 1821; slave edition 1819.

[EXIT.]

SCENE 1.3: 
A MAGNIFICENT HALL IN THE CENCI PALACE. 
A BANQUET. 
ENTER CENCI, LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NOBLES.

CENCI: 
Welcome, my friends and kinsmen; welcome ye,
Princes and Cardinals, pillars of the church,
Whose presence honours our festivity. 
I have too long lived like an anchorite,
And in my absence from your merry meetings 5
An evil word is gone abroad of me;
But I do hope that you, my noble friends,
When you have shared the entertainment here,
And heard the pious cause for which ’tis given,
And we have pledged a health or two together, 10
Will think me flesh and blood as well as you;
Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so,
But tender-hearted, meek and pitiful.

FIRST GUEST: 
In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart,
Too sprightly and companionable a man, 15
To act the deeds that rumour pins on you.
[TO HIS COMPANION.]
I never saw such blithe and open cheer
In any eye!

SECOND GUEST: 
Some most desired event,
In which we all demand a common joy,
Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count. 20

CENCI: 
It is indeed a most desired event. 
If when a parent from a parent’s heart
Lifts from this earth to the great Father of all
A prayer, both when he lays him down to sleep,
And when he rises up from dreaming it; 25
One supplication, one desire, one hope,
That he would grant a wish for his two sons,
Even all that he demands in their regard—­
And suddenly beyond his dearest hope
It is accomplished, he should then rejoice, 30
And call his friends and kinsmen to a feast,
And task their love to grace his merriment,—­
Then honour me thus far—­for I am he.

BEATRICE [TO LUCRETIA]: 
Great God!  How horrible! some dreadful ill
Must have befallen my brothers.

LUCRETIA: 
Fear not, child, 35
He speaks too frankly.

BEATRICE: 
Ah!  My blood runs cold. 
I fear that wicked laughter round his eye,
Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair.