GUIDO: If you must know,
That stops my life on this side of the grave,
But on the other we shall meet again.

DUCHESS: No, no, ‘tis not too late: you must get hence;
The horse is by the bridge, there is still time.
Away, away, you must not tarry here!

Noise of SOLDIERS in the passage.

A VOICE OUTSIDE: Room for the Lord Justice of Padua!

The LORD JUSTICE is seen through the grated window passing down the corridor preceded by men bearing torches.

DUCHESS: It is too late.

A VOICE OUTSIDE: Room for the headsman.

DUCHESS (sinks down): Oh!

The HEADSMAN with his axe on his shoulder is seen passing the corridor, followed by Monks bearing candles.

GUIDO: Farewell, dear love, for I must drink this poison.
I do not fear the headsman, but I would die
Not on the lonely scaffold.

DUCHESS: Oh!

GUIDO: But here,
Here in thine arms, kissing thy mouth: farewell!

Goes to the table and takes the goblet up.

What, art thou empty?

Throws it to the ground.

O thou churlish gaoler,
Even of poisons niggard!

DUCHESS (faintly): Blame him not.

GUIDO: O God! You have not drunk it, Beatrice?
Tell me you have not?

DUCHESS: Were I to deny it,
There is a fire eating at my heart
Which would find utterance.

GUIDO: O treacherous love,
Why have you not left a drop for me?

DUCHESS: No, no, it held but death enough for one.

GUIDO: Is there no poison still upon your lips,
That I may draw it from them?

DUCHESS: Why should you die?
You have not spilt blood, and so need not die:
I have spilt blood, and therefore I must die.
Was it not said blood should be spilt for blood?
Who said that? I forget.

GUIDO: Tarry for me,
Our souls will go together.

DUCHESS: Nay, you must live.
There are many other women in the world
Who will love you, and not murder for your sake.

GUIDO: I love you only.

DUCHESS: You need not die for that.

GUIDO: Ah, if we die together, love, why then
Can we not lie together in one grave.

DUCHESS: A grave is but a narrow wedding-bed.

GUIDO: It is enough for us.

DUCHESS: And they will strew it

With a stark winding-sheet, and bitter herbs;
I think there are no roses in the grave,
Or if there are, they all are withered now
Since my Lord went there.

GUIDO: Ah! Dear Beatrice,
Your lips are roses that death cannot wither.

DUCHESS: Nay, if we lie together, will not my lips
Fall into dust, and your enamoured eyes
Shrivel to sightless sockets, and the worms,
Which are our groomsmen, eat away your heart?

GUIDO: I do not care: Death has no power on love,
And so by Love’s immortal sovereignty
I will die with you.