OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 
53 
 
LUCREZIA.  The Angel of Venice prays.  Dear God, what rich 
perfume 
Must flood the starry ways, a fragrant lily-bloom ! 
Dare I disturb the wreaths that curl toward God ? 
MONICA. 
 
Amen ! 
LUCREZIA.  How like a babe she breathes ! 
MONICA.  [Rising and going to greet LUCREZIA.]  What news 
from Venice then ? 
Why, my Lucrezia, you are fair !  The wound is healed ? 
Why, well, then !  Do we still despair to take the field ? 
LUCREZIA.  Still in his iron gauntlet gripped the city squirms. 
MONICA.  Then Mortadello has not slipped off to the worms ? 
No ?  All the better in the end !  Your eyes shall blaze 
With a new light.  Ay !  foe and friend in stunned amaze 
Shall see a slight not Christendom saw yet !  Now then, 
Where is Orlando ?  Will he come, black pearl of men ? 
LUCREZIA.  He comes to greet your Highness. 
MONICA. 
Now ? 
LUCREZIA. 
 
He is on the way. 
MONICA.  Then there’s good hope.  Not vain the vow ! 
LUCREZIA. 
 
Oh !—if I may !— 
While we await him, let me ask your aid in turn. 
MONICA.  Could I refuse you aught ? 
LUCREZIA. 
 
The task is strange and stern. 
Have you seen an arrow dipped in mud, whose venom’s 
worth 
A thousand fold its bulk of blood ? 
MONICA. 
Ay, marshy earth 
Fed by the hydra, by the toad, where witches lurk,