Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls In motley suits, and pair us, to increase The race of fools. 'Twould be a noble thing, A motley woman, had she wit enough To bear the bell. But there's the misery: You may make princes out of any stuff; Fools come by nature. She'll make fifty kings-- Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cruel governors-- For one fine fool. There is Paolo, now, A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart-- Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. Lo! here he comes. And there's fierce crook-back's bride Walking beside him--O, how gingerly! Take care, my love! that is the very pace We trip to hell with. Hunchback is away-- That was a fair escape for you; but, then, The devil's ever with us, and that's worse. See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta, And melancholy as a cow.--How's this? I'll step aside, and watch you, pretty folks. [_Hides behind the bushes._
_Enter_ PAOLO _and_ FRANCESCA, _followed by_ RITTA. _He seats himself in an arbour, and reads._ RITTA _and_ FRANCESCA _advance._
RITTA. I would rather stay. If it may please you. I require a walk And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers, To stir my blood. I am not very well.
FRANCESCA. I knew it, child. Go to your chamber, dear. Paolo has a book to read to me.
RITTA. What, the romance? I should so love to hear! I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. I'm weary now, quite weary, and would rest.
RITTA. Ah! did I so? Walking or resting, I would stay with you.
FRANCESCA. The Count objects. He told me, yesterday, That you were restless while he read to me; And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed, And yawned, until he almost paused.
RITTA. Let me go ask him. [_Runs toward_ PAOLO.
FRANCESCA. Stop! Come hither, Ritta. [_She returns._] I saw your new embroidery in the hall,-- The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes; It should be finished.
RITTA. I will bring it here.-- O no! my finger's sore; I cannot work.
RITTA. Let me remain, I pray. 'Tis better, lady; you may wish for me: I know you will be sorry if I go.
FRANCESCA. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you. Will you be headstrong?
RITTA. Yet you made pretexts enough, Before you ordered.
FRANCESCA. You are insolent. Will you remain against my will?