Oscar Wilde - The Duchess of Padua

Thou shalt do that many times.

Must it be so?

Ay! thou hast sworn an oath.

That oath shall make me marble.

Farewell, boy,
Thou wilt not see me till the time is ripe.

I pray thou comest quickly.

I will come
When it is time; be ready.

Fear me not.

Here is your friend; see that you banish him
Both from your heart and Padua.

From Padua,
Not from my heart.

Nay, from thy heart as well,
I will not leave thee till I see thee do it.

Can I have no friend?

Revenge shall be thy friend;
Thou need’st no other.

Well, then be it so.

Come, Guido, I have been beforehand with you in everything, for I have drunk a flagon of wine, eaten a pasty, and kissed the maid who served it. Why, you look as melancholy as a schoolboy who cannot buy apples, or a politician who cannot sell his vote. What news, Guido, what news?

Why, that we two must part, Ascanio.

That would be news indeed, but it is not true.

Too true it is, you must get hence, Ascanio,
And never look upon my face again.

No, no; indeed you do not know me, Guido;
’Tis true I am a common yeoman’s son,
Nor versed in fashions of much courtesy;
But, if you are nobly born, cannot I be
Your serving man? I will tend you with more love
Than any hired servant.

Ascanio!

It cannot be.

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?

Share it?

Ay!

No, no.

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

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.

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.

Never more.

Must I go hence without a word of love?

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

You are unknightly, and ungenerous.

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

Have you no message, Guido?

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

Farewell [ exit slowly .]

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?

Ay! I am satisfied. Now I go hence,
Do not forget the sign, your father’s dagger,
And do the business when I send it to you.

Be sure I shall. [ Exit Lord Moranzone.]

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 .]
Listen, thou terrible God!
Thou God that punishest all broken oaths,
And bid some angel write this oath in fire,
That from this hour, till my dear father’s murder
In blood I have revenged, I do forswear
The noble ties of honourable friendship,
The noble joys of dear companionship,
Affection’s bonds, and loyal gratitude,
Ay, more, from this same hour I do forswear
All love of women, and the barren thing
Which men call beauty —

Oh! who is that?

The Duchess of Padua!

No, my Lord Cardinal, I weary of her!
Why, she is worse than ugly, she is good.

Your Grace, there are two thousand people there
Who every moment grow more clamorous.

Tut, man, they waste their strength upon their lungs!
People who shout so loud, my lords, do nothing;
The only men I fear are silent men.