ORSINO:
'Tis thus
Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts _25
Upon the abettors of their own resolve;
Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.
'Tis thus
Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts _25
Upon the abettors of their own resolve;
Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.
Shelley
ENTER ORSINO AND GIACOMO.
GIACOMO:
Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end?
O, that the vain remorse which must chastise
Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn
As its keen sting is mortal to avenge!
O, that the hour when present had cast off _5
The mantle of its mystery, and shown
The ghastly form with which it now returns
When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds
Of conscience to their prey! Alas! Alas!
It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed, _10
To kill an old and hoary-headed father.
ORSINO:
It has turned out unluckily, in truth.
GIACOMO:
To violate the sacred doors of sleep;
To cheat kind Nature of the placid death
Which she prepares for overwearied age; _15
To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul
Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers
A life of burning crimes. . .
ORSINO:
You cannot say
I urged you to the deed.
GIACOMO:
O, had I never
Found in thy smooth and ready countenance _20
The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou
Never with hints and questions made me look
Upon the monster of my thought, until
It grew familiar to desire. . .
ORSINO:
'Tis thus
Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts _25
Upon the abettors of their own resolve;
Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.
And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril
In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness
Of penitence; confess 'tis fear disguised _30
From its own shame that takes the mantle now
Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe?
GIACOMO:
How can that be? Already Beatrice,
Lucretia and the murderer are in prison.
I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, _35
Sent to arrest us.
ORSINO:
I have all prepared
For instant flight. We can escape even now,
So we take fleet occasion by the hair.
GIACOMO:
Rather expire in tortures, as I may.
What! will you cast by self-accusing flight _40
Assured conviction upon Beatrice?
She, who alone in this unnatural work,
Stands like God's angel ministered upon
By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong
As turns black parricide to piety; _45
Whilst we for basest ends. . . I fear, Orsino,
While I consider all your words and looks,
Comparing them with your proposal now,
That you must be a villain. For what end
Could you engage in such a perilous crime, _50
Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles,
Even to this gulf?
