On a red scaffold, with a butcher’s block Set for his neck. Guido [leaping up] Guido What dreadful man art thou, That like a raven, or the midnight owl, Com’st with this awful message from the grave? Moranzone Moranzone I am known here as the Count Moranzone, Lord of a barren castle on a rock, With a few acres of unkindly land And six not thrifty servants. But I was one Of Parma’s noblest princes; more than that, I was your father’s friend. Guido [clasping his hand] Guido Tell me of him. Moranzone Moranzone You are the son of that great Duke Lorenzo, He was the Prince of Parma, and the Duke Of all the fair domains of Lombardy Down to the gates of Florence; nay, Florence even Was wont to pay him tribute— Guido Guido Come to his death. Moranzone Moranzone You will hear that soon enough. Being at war— O noble lion of war, that would not suffer Injustice done in Italy!—he led The very flower of chivalry against That foul adulterous Lord of Rimini, Giovanni Malatesta—whom God curse! And was by him in treacherous ambush taken, And like a villain, or a low-born knave, Was by him on the public scaffold murdered. Guido [clutching his dagger]
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