Enter Teobaldo and Dorotea.
Teobaldo. Since mine the sin, I can none other blame
For this dark deed of blood. Oh! misery and shame.
Dorotea. From heaven in my prayers each day
I pray revenge.
Teobaldo, I marvel, weighted with such bitter grief,
I breathe or move; write they of a father, who,
Revenge did higher place than honour true,
Tempting his son to death? Oh! sad revenge,
Oh! passion, grief, and woe.
Dorotea. All say the blame with rash Otavio lay
In tempting thus to hot contentious fray.
This gentle youth did almost sue for peace;
And hoped to give some timely balm to these
Unhappy feuds which stab Verona to the heart;
A thousand furies spur cold tolerance till she fires;
The mischief done, we then must rest content
With that which hath no cure.
Teobaldo. What care I now for rivalry of kin?
In the chill gloom of yonder silent vault
Otavio sleeps with those who've gone before;
A simple stone doth mark the spot; alas! alas!
In the spring of youth and beauty there he lies.
Oh, daughter, if the winged winds shall waft
Yon traitor Montes to another shore, for life,
Already hath the signal sounded deep for strife.
Otavio lies entombed, his cloak around his corse,
Awaiting his revenge, so I'll with speed
Proclaim to all our house the horrors of this deed.
