Act 5 — ACT V. SCENE I.
Reading edition
A Room in Camillo’s House.
Enter Camillo, Hippolito, Virgilio, Asorino, Baptista, Bentivoglio, Doyt, and Dandyprat, all weaponed, their rapiers’ sheaths[756] in their hands.
Cam. Gentlemen and noble Italians, whom I love best, who know best what wrongs I have stood under, being laid on by him who is to thank me for his life: I did bestow him, as the prize of mine honour, upon my love, the most fair Violetta: my love’s merit was basely sold to him by the most false Violetta. Not content with this felony, he hath dared to add the sweet theft of ignoble marriage: she’s now none’s but his; and he, treacherous villain, any one’s but hers: he doats, my honoured friends, on a painted courtesan; and, in scorn of our Italian laws, our family, our revenge, loathes Violetta’s bed, for a harlot’s bosom. I conjure you, therefore, by all the bonds of gentility, that as you have solemnly sworn a most sharp, so let the revenge be most sudden.
Vir. Be not yourself a bar to that suddenness by this protraction.
Omnes. Away, gentlemen, away then!
Hip. As for that light hobbyhorse, my sister, whose foul name I will rase out with my poniard, by the honour of my family, which her lust hath profaned, I swear—and, gentlemen, be in this my sworn brothers—I swear, that as all Venice does admire her beauty, so all the world shall be amazed at her punishment. Follow, therefore.
Vir. Stay, let our resolutions keep together: whither go we first?
296Cam. To the strumpet Imperia’s.
Omnes. Agreed: what then?
Cam. There to find Fontinelle: found, to kill him——
Vir. And killed, to hang out his reeking body at his harlot’s window.
Cam. And by his body, the strumpet’s——
Hip. And between both, my sister’s.
Vir. The tragedy is just: on then, begin.
Cam. As you go, every hand pull in a friend, to strengthen us against all opposites. He that has any drop of true Italian blood in him, thus vow, this morning, to shed others’, or let out his own. If you consent to this, follow me.
Omnes. Via,[757] away! the treacherous Frenchman dies.
Hip. Catso,[758] Saint Mark, my pistol! thus death flies. [Exeunt.