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 miracle of grace,
Feel what it is to be a wreck like me? 
Paolo, look at me.  Is there a line,
In my whole bulk of wretched contraries,
That nature in a nightmare ever used
Upon her shapes till now?  Find me the man,
Or beast, or tree, or rock, or nameless thing,
So out of harmony with all things else,
And I’ll go raving with bare happiness,—­
Ay, and I’ll marry Helena of Greece,
And swear I do her honour!

PAOLO.  Lanciotto,
I, who have known you from a stripling up,
Never observed, or, if I did, ne’er weighed
Your special difference from the rest of men. 
You’re not Apollo—­

  LANCIOTTO.  No!

PAOLO.  Nor yet are you
A second Pluto.  Could I change with you—­
My graces for your nobler qualities—­
Your strength, your courage, your renown—­by heaven,
We’d e’en change persons, to the finest hair.

  LANCIOTTO.  You should be flatterer to an emperor.

PAOLO.  I am but just.  Let me beseech you, brother. 
To look with greater favour on yourself;
Nor suffer misty phantoms of your brain
To take the place of sound realities. 
Go to Ravenna, wed your bride, and lull
Your cruel delusions in domestic peace. 
Ghosts fly a fireside; ’tis their wont to stalk
Through empty houses, and through empty hearts. 
I know Francesca will be proud of you. 
Women admire you heroes.  Rusty sages,
Pale poets, and scarred warriors, have been
Their idols ever; while we fair plump fools
Are elbowed to the wall, or only used
For vacant pastime.

LANCIOTTO.  To Ravenna?—­no! 
In Rimini they know me; at Ravenna
I’d be a new-come monster, and exposed
To curious wonder.  There will be parade
Of all the usual follies of the state;
Fellows with trumpets, tinselled coats, and wands,
Would strut before me, like vain mountebanks
Before their monkeys.  Then, I should be stared
Out of my modesty; and when they look,
How can I tell if ’tis the bridegroom’s face
Or hump that draws their eyes?  I will not go. 
To please you all, I’ll marry; but to please
The wonder-mongers of Ravenna—­Ha! 
Paolo, now I have it.  You shall go,
To bring Francesca; and you’ll speak of me,
Not as I ought to be, but as I am. 
If she draw backward, give her rein; and say
That neither Guido-nor herself shall feel
The weight of my displeasure.  You may say,
I pity her—­