Let him confess
himself!
Shelley
Hide thee from my abhorrence: fly, begone!
Yet stay! Bid Beatrice come hither.
NOTE:
_4 not now edition 1821; now not edition 1819.
LUCRETIA:
Oh,
Husband! I pray, for thine own wretched sake _15
Heed what thou dost. A man who walks like thee
Through crimes, and through the danger of his crimes,
Each hour may stumble o'er a sudden grave.
And thou art old; thy hairs are hoary gray;
As thou wouldst save thyself from death and hell, _20
Pity thy daughter; give her to some friend
In marriage: so that she may tempt thee not
To hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be.
CENCI:
What! like her sister who has found a home
To mock my hate from with prosperity? _25
Strange ruin shall destroy both her and thee
And all that yet remain. My death may be
Rapid, her destiny outspeeds it. Go,
Bid her come hither, and before my mood
Be changed, lest I should drag her by the hair. _30
LUCRETIA:
She sent me to thee, husband. At thy presence
She fell, as thou dost know, into a trance;
And in that trance she heard a voice which said,
'Cenci must die!
Let him confess himself!
Even now the accusing Angel waits to hear _35
If God, to punish his enormous crimes,
Harden his dying heart! '
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. . .
