Is not this horror written on my front
In hideous characters? The gaping world
Will crowd to gaze upon the branded wretch
Who bears his guilt imprinted on his brow,
And less detested criminals will bruit
Geraldi's crimes to wondering multitudes.
Enter Veronica.
Give me my murdered friend, wash from my hands
These crimson spots—Oh why, why dost thou look
So like an angel, and yet bear within
The seeds of mischief?
Veronica.
Beloved Geraldi,
Look not upon me with that cold, stern glance;
I have no welcome tidings to impart,
Nothing to soothe thee save my faithful love,
The strong affection which 'mid bliss or woe
Still clings in mournful tenderness, still twines
Like the fond ivy round the blasted tree
That boasts no other verdure.
