Sforza.
Where are the fiends
Who have invaded Heaven, and stolen the forms
Of angels, to deceive my trusting heart?
Oh! false fair devil! shameless wanton! thou,
Thou whom I called my friend, couldst thou too heap
Dishonour on my head,—give to my arms,
My chaste embrace, thy spotted harlot? Heaven,
Lend me thy lightning; 't is not common death
That will suffice my vengeance. Angelo!
I loved them both,—how dearly, these hot tears
Will witness; from my burning eyes they burst
Like drops of melted iron from the breast
Of yon volcano.—Oh! my Veronica!—
Julian!—ye lovely phantoms of my brain!
Must, must I loose[1] ye!?
Angelo.
Such ingratitude,
Such base return for kindness, merits not.
This tenderness.
