OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 
9 
 
She has heaven’s voice whose silence drowns earth’s crazy 
cries— 
MORTADELLO.  You are nervous, sweetheart, 
MAGDALENA. 
When she frowns, my spirit dies. 
MORTADELLO.  Then, before God, I swear it, she shall drink 
of steel ! 
I go now to give order.  Be at peace. 
MAGDALENA. 
I will. 
And so good night.  My hand is yours to bend and kiss. 
Let its blood pulse what breast allures to burning bliss. 
I would—I would—I know not what I would.  But you 
Divine it. 
MORTADELLO.  Ah ! 
MAGDALENA. 
The night is hot, no wind beats through 
The hushed canals.  So is my heart—for you, my lord, 
My excellent lord !  and so—to part. 
MORTADELLO. 
 
Draw out my sword ! 
 
 
 
[She does so. 
So, sweet, while faintest fear can threat my troth-plight wife 
Shall its blade quiver and ache and fret to have her life. 
Be reassured. 
MAGDALENA. 
Death sits, your vassal, in your eyes. 
MORTADELLO.  I swear by Mary and the Mass, your rival dies. 
MAGDALENA.  Then go, my knight and king.  I love you. 
MORTADELLO. 
 
Queen, good-night ! 
 
 
 
[He steps from the gondola. 
MAGDALENA.  God and his angels watch above you. 
MORTADELLO. 
 
At the light 
You may expect my news. 
MAGDALENA. 
 
Strike swift and sure and subtle ! 
Snap the pale thread, my wedding gift Fate’s empty shuttle !