them, like the tongues
Of angry serpents! O, my God! I fled
At the first touch of the infernal stain!
Go--you may see--go to the hall!

PAOLO. Fie! man,
You have been ever played on in this sort
By your wild fancies. When your heart is high,
You make them playthings; but in lower moods,
They seem to sap the essence of your soul,
And drain your manhood to its poorest dregs.

LANCIOTTO. Go look, go look!

PAOLO. [_Goes to the door, and returns._] There sticks the sword, indeed,
Just as your tread detached it from its sheath;
Looking more like a blessed cross, I think,
Than a bad looking omen. As for blood--Ha, ha!
[_Laughing._]
It sets mine dancing. Pshaw! away with this!
Deck up your face with smiles. Go trim yourself
For the young bride. New velvet, gold, and gems,
Do wonders for us. Brother, come; I'll be
Your tiring-man, for once.

LANCIOTTO. Array this lump--
Paolo, hark! There are some human thoughts
Best left imprisoned in the aching heart,
Lest the freed malefactors should dispread
Infamous ruin with their liberty.
There's not a man--the fairest of ye all--
Who is not fouler than he seems. This life
Is one unending struggle to conceal
Our baseness from our fellows. Here stands one
In vestal whiteness with a lecher's lust;--
There sits a judge, holding law's scales in hands
That itch to take the bribe he dare not touch;--
Here goes a priest with heavenward eyes, whose soul
Is Satan's council-chamber;--there a doctor,
With nature's secrets wrinkled round a brow
Guilty with conscious ignorance;--and here
A soldier rivals Hector's bloody deeds--
Out-does the devil in audacity--
With craven longings fluttering in a heart
That dares do aught but fly! Thus are we all
Mere slaves and alms-men to a scornful world,
That takes us at our seeming.

PAOLO. Say 'tis true;
What do you drive at?

LANCIOTTO. At myself, full tilt.
I, like the others, am not what I seem.
Men call me gentle, courteous, brave.--They lie!
I'm harsh, rude, and a coward. Had I nerve
To cast my devils out upon the earth,
I'd show this laughing planet what a hell
Of envy, malice, cruelty, and scorn,
It has forced back to canker in the heart
Of one poor cripple!

PAOLO. Ha!

LANCIOTTO. Ay, now 'tis out!
A word I never breathed to man before.
Can you, who are a mir