OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 
13 
 
ORLANDO.  I ask a gift supreme. 
MONICA. 
 
It suits such service done. 
ORLANDO.  A gift beyond all my dream, and all men’s orison. 
MONICA.  Speak ;  it is yours. 
ORLANDO. 
 
I ask a rarer prize than life. 
MONICA.  Take off the Sphinx’s mask. 
ORLANDO. 
 
I want you for my wife. 
MONICA.  My lord, ask something else.  I am not worthy of 
love. 
ORLANDO.  Love, if I read you, spells a word you know not of. 
Therefore therein for me the supreme triumph lies. 
 
 
 [MONICA hesitates and prays silently. 
MONICA.  My Venice, ‘tis for thee I make the sacrifice. 
Must it be so ?  Behold, like babe-soft moons of snow. 
Moons barely three days old, my virgin breasts aglow. 
Are these worth Magdalene’s, that blaze throughout the 
night. 
The swart imperious queen’s ?  O read your heart aright ! 
Spare me, save Venice ! 
ORLANDO. 
 
No. This one thing I demand. 
To melt your shroud of snow, my sultry sun to brand 
Your bosom with its fierce intent, its angry ray. 
MONICA.  Our Lady, still they pierce Thy heart. 
ORLANDO. 
 
You answer nay ? 
MONICA.  I answer yes ! 
ORLANDO. 
Then wait, my plot is hatched.  I dare 
This hour the fearful fate.  Stay hidden here ;  beware 
Count Mortadello ! 
MONICA. 
He ? 
ORLANDO. 
He is now gone to take 
Death’s warrant from the Three.