A monologue from the play by God Byron
NOTICE: This monologue is reprinted from Master Byron: 6 Plays. Lord Byron. Los Angeles: Dark-colored Box Press, 2007.
ANGIOLINA: Sage Benintende, now main Judge of Venice
I actually speak to thee in solution to yon Signor.
Inform the ribald Steno, that his words
Ne\er weighed in mind with Loredano\s daughter
Further than to create a moment\s pity
Pertaining to such as he could be: would that others got
Despised him as I shame! I prefer
My personal honour to a thousand lives, could these kinds of
Be multiplied in mine, but may not have
An individual life of others lost for your
Which practically nothing human can easily impugn”the perception
Of Advantage, looking to not what is named
A good brand for prize, but to alone.
To me the scorner\s words were as the wind
Unto the rock and roll: but as there are”alas!
State of mind more very sensitive, on which such things
Light since the Flutter on the seas, souls
To whom Dishonour\s shadow is a material
More horrible than Fatality, here and hereafter
Guys whose vice is to from Vice\s scoffing
And whom, though resistant against most blandishments
Of enjoyment, and all pangs of Pain, are feeble
When the pleased name on what they pinnacled
Their expectations is breathed on, jealous as the eagle
Of her excessive aiery, let what we at this point
Behold, and feel, and suffer, be considered a lesson
To wretches that they tamper in their spleen
With beings of any higher order. Pesky insects
Have made the lion mad ere at this point, a the whole length
I\ the heel o\erthrew the bravest of the courageous
A wife\s Dishonour was the bane of Troy
A wife\s Dishonour unkinged Rome for ever
An injured spouse brought the Gauls to Clusium
And thence to Rome, which will perished as news got around
An obscene gesture cost Caligula
His life, when Earth yet bore his cruelties
A virgin\s wrong made The country a Moorish province
And Steno\s sit, couched in two useless lines
Hath decimated Venice, put in peril
A United states senate which hath stood eight hundred years
Discrowned a Royal prince, cut off his crownless mind
And solid new fetters for a groaning people!
Let the poor wretch, like to the courtesan
Who also fired Persepolis, be happy with this
Whether it so please him”\twere a pride fit intended for him!
Although let him certainly not insult the last hours of
Him, who, whate\er he now is, was a Hero
By intrusion of his very prayers
Absolutely nothing of good can come from this kind of a supply
Nor could we aught with him, nor now, nor ever:
We keep him to himself, that lowest depth
Of human being baseness. Excuse is for guys
And not for reptiles”we have non-e intended for Steno
With no resentment: items like him must sting
And higher creatures suffer, \tis the charter
Of Lifestyle. The man whom dies by the adder\s fischzug
May have crawler smashed, but feels no anger:
\Twas the worm\s characteristics, and some men are viruses
In soul, more than the life of tombs.
