CENCI: 
Why—­such things are... 
No doubt divine revealings may be made. 
’Tis plain I have been favoured from above,
For when I cursed my sons they died.—­Ay...so... 40
As to the right or wrong, that’s talk...repentance... 
Repentance is an easy moment’s work
And more depends on God than me.  Well...well... 
I must give up the greater point, which was
To poison and corrupt her soul.
[A PAUSE, LUCRETIA APPROACHES ANXIOUSLY,
AND THEN SHRINKS BACK AS HE SPEAKS.]
One, two; 45
Ay...Rocco and Cristofano my curse
Strangled:  and Giacomo, I think, will find
Life a worse Hell than that beyond the grave: 
Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate,
Die in despair, blaspheming:  to Bernardo, 50
He is so innocent, I will bequeath
The memory of these deeds, and make his youth
The sepulchre of hope, where evil thoughts
Shall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb. 
When all is done, out in the wide Campagna, 55
I will pile up my silver and my gold;
My costly robes, paintings, and tapestries;
My parchments and all records of my wealth,
And make a bonfire in my joy, and leave
Of my possessions nothing but my name; 60
Which shall be an inheritance to strip
Its wearer bare as infamy.  That done,
My soul, which is a scourge, will I resign
Into the hands of him who wielded it;
Be it for its own punishment or theirs, 65
He will not ask it of me till the lash
Be broken in its last and deepest wound;
Until its hate be all inflicted.  Yet,
Lest death outspeed my purpose, let me make
Short work and sure...

[GOING.]

LUCRETIA [STOPS HIM]: 
Oh, stay!  It was a feint:  70
She had no vision, and she heard no voice. 
I said it but to awe thee.

CENCI: 
That is well. 
Vile palterer with the sacred truth of God,
Be thy soul choked with that blaspheming lie! 
For Beatrice worse terrors are in store 75
To bend her to my will.

LUCRETIA: 
Oh! to what will? 
What cruel sufferings more than she has known
Canst thou inflict?

CENCI: 
Andrea!  Go call my daughter,
And if she comes not tell her that I come. 
What sufferings?  I will drag her, step by step, 80
Through infamies unheard of among men: 
She shall stand shelterless in the broad noon
Of public scorn, for acts blazoned abroad,
One among which shall be...What?  Canst thou guess? 
She shall become (for what she most abhors 85
Shall have a fascination to entrap
Her loathing will) to her own conscious self