Sees MORANZONE looking at him and drops ASCANIO’S hand.

It cannot be.

ASCANIO: What, is it so with you?
I thought the friendship of the antique world
Was not yet dead, but that the Roman type
Might even in this poor and common age
Find counterparts of love; then by this love
Which beats between us like a summer sea,
Whatever lot has fallen to your hand
May I not share it?

GUIDO: Share it?

ASCANIO: Ay!

GUIDO: No, no.

ASCANIO: Have you then come to some inheritance
Of lordly castle, or of stored-up gold?

GUIDO (bitterly): Ay! I have come to my inheritance.
O bloody legacy! And O murderous dole!
Which, like the thrifty miser, must I hoard,
And to my own self keep; and so, I pray you,
Let us part here.

ASCANIO: What, shall we never more
Sit hand in hand, as we were wont to sit,
Over some book of ancient chivalry
Stealing a truant holiday from school,
Follow the huntsmen through the autumn woods,
And watch the falcons burst their tasselled jesses,
When the hare breaks from covert.

GUIDO: Never more.

ASCANIO: Must I go hence without a word of love?

GUIDO: You must go hence, and may love go with you.

ASCANIO: You are unknightly, and ungenerous.

GUIDO: Unknightly and ungenerous if you will.
Why should we waste more words about the matter!
Let us part now.

ASCANIO: Have you no message, Guido?

GUIDO: None; my whole past was but a schoolboy’s dream, To-day my life begins. Farewell.

ASCANIO: Farewell (exit slowly).

GUIDO: Now are you satisfied? Have you not seen
My dearest friend, and my most loved companion,
Thrust from me like a common kitchen knave!
Oh, that I did it! Are you not satisfied?

MORANZONE: Ay! I am satisfied. Now I go hence,
Back to my lonely castle on the hill.
Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger,
And do the business when I send it to you.

GUIDO: Be sure I shall.

Exit LORD MORANZONE.

GUIDO: O thou eternal heaven!
If there is aught of nature in my soul,
Of gentle pity, or fond kindliness,
Wither it up, blast it, bring it to nothing,
Or if thou wilt not, then will I myself
Cut pity with a sharp knife from my heart
And strangle mercy in her sleep at night
Lest she speak to me. Vengeance there I have it.
Be thou my comrade and my bedfellow,
Sit by my side, ride to the chase with me,
When I am weary sing me pretty songs,
When I am light o’ heart, make jest with me,
And when I dream, whisper into my ear
The dreadful secret of a father’s murder –
Did I say murder?

Draws his dagger.