64 
MORTADELLO 
 
Beneath the blessings from her false lips lisped, is choked, 
The teeth o’ the tigress clenched in death.  The heart that 
smoked 
Hell’s lust is cold. 
ORLANDO.  [Turns and sees MONICA, as he thinks, dead]  God, 
then my sword drink vengeance deep ! 
GABRIELE.  This thrust balk thy revenge ! 
[GABRIELE stabs him treacherously in his amazement. 
ORLANDO. 
 
O treacherous dagger-sweep ! 
GABRIELE.  Ay !  she’s not dead, black fool !  But mine for 
the torture—Drink 
Black lees of hell’s own wine, thy poisoned soul to sink 
In mire and filth of agony, shame—Christ, I’ll drench 
Desire of hate in her own rotting body’s stench. 
But death—not death !  Ha !  Ha !  Ha ! 
ORLANDO. 
 
I am a dead man. 
GABRIELE.  He saith it !  Now to achieve the pinnacle of my 
plan ! 
Princess, I arrest you in the Doge’s name. 
MONICA. 
Arrest ! 
GABRIELE.  No less ! 
MONICA.  [Rising with arms outstretched.]  Nay, look, my 
lord, behold my hands, my breast, 
My feet ! 
[It is seen that she bears the bleeding stigmata of Christ. 
GABRIELE.  What ! 
THE SOLDIERS. 
’Tis a miracle of God. 
GABRIELE. 
You fools ! 
Deceit o’ the devil, rather.  Will you be the tools 
Of a whore ? 
MONICA.  [Raising her crystal cross and advancing upon him