[Retires, laughing.

Enter a MESSENGER.

MESSENGER.  Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta.
[Presents them, and exit.

GUIDO. [Aside.] Hear him, ye gods!—­“from great Prince Malatesta!”
Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido.  Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down.
[Reads.]
"Fearing our treachery,"—­by heaven, that’s blunt,
And Malatesta-like!—­"he will not send
His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"—­
But what?—­a groom, a porter? or will he
Have his prey sent him in an iron cage? 
By Jove, he shall not have her!  O! no, no;
"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo,
To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."
That’s well, if he had left his reasons out. 
And, in a postscript—­by the saints, ’tis droll!—­
"’Twould not be worth your lordship’s while to shut
Paolo in a prison; for, my lord,
I’ll only pay his ransom in plain steel: 
Besides, he’s not worth having." Is there one,
Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths,
Who’d write such garbage to a gentleman? 
Take that, and read it. [Gives letter to CARDINAL.

CARDINAL.  I have done the most. 
She seems suspicious.

  GUIDO.  Ritta’s work.

  CARDINAL.  Farewell!

  FRANCESCA.  Father, you seem distempered.

GUIDO.  No, my child,
I am but vexed.  Your husband’s on the road,
Close to Ravenna.  What’s the time of day?

  FRANCESCA.  Past noon, my lord.

  GUIDO.  We must be stirring, then.

  FRANCESCA.  I do not like this marriage.

  GUIDO.  But I do.

FRANCESCA.  But I do not.  Poh! to be given away,
Like a fine horse or falcon, to a man
Whose face I never saw!

  RITTA.  That’s it, my lady.

GUIDO.  Ritta, run down, and see if my great pot
Boils to your liking.

RITTA. [Aside.] O! that pot again! 
My lord, my heart betrays me; but you know
How true ’tis to my lady. [Exit.

  FRANCESCA.  What ails Ritta?

GUIDO.  The ailing of your sex, a running tongue. 
Francesca, ’tis too late to beat retreat: 
Old Malatesta has me—­you, too, child—­
Safe in his clutch.  If you are not content,
I must unclose Ravenna, and allow
His son to take you.  Poh, poh! have a soul
Equal with your estate.  A prince’s child
Cannot choose husbands.  Her desires must aim,
Not at herself, but at the public good. 
Both as your prince and father, I command;
As subject and good daughter, you’ll obey.

FRANCESCA.  I knew that it must be my destiny,
Some day, to give my hand without my heart;
But—­