Geraldi.
Triumph now,
Proud beauty. Thy supremacy o'er all
Thy lovely sex is stamped with blood; thy path
To fame is strewed with richer trophies than
Pale flowers and tender madrigals; thy name
Shall live for ever in the fatal scroll
Recording Julian's death, and Sforza's doom.
Veronica.
My poor Geraldi—let me chase away
Those unkind thoughts, rising, like evil fiends,
To goad thy wounded spirit; this dark cell
Wherein hath pass'd thy lonely hours, the pangs
Of keen remorse have worked a fearful change;
'Tis not thy nature, Sforza—Oh, unbend
That strange contracted brow—my tears, my prayers,
Will they not melt thy much-enduring heart?
Geraldi.
Tell me that Julian lives.—Oh, beauteous cause
Of man's destruction, hence! Thou art not safe
