FRANCESCA.  I dare.  It was ill usage, gross abuse,
Treason to duty, meanness, craft—­dishonour! 
What if I’d thrown my heart before the feet
Of this sham husband! cast my love away
Upon a counterfeit!  I was prepared
To force affection upon any man
Called Lanciotto.  Anything of silk,
Tinsel, and gewgaws, if he bore that name,
Might have received me for the asking.  Yes,
I was inclined to venture more than half
In this base business—­shame upon my thoughts!—­
All for my father’s peace and poor Ravenna’s. 
And this Paolo, with his cavalcade,
His minstrels, music, and his pretty airs,
His showy person, and his fulsome talk,
Almost made me contented with my lot. 
O! what a fool—­in faith, I merit it—­
Trapped by mere glitter!  What an easy fool! 
Ha! ha!  I’m glad it went no further, girl;
          
                                                    [Laughing.]
I’m glad I kept my heart safe, after all. 
There was my cunning.  I have paid them back,
I warrant you!  I’ll marry Lanciotto;
I’ll seem to shuffle by this treachery.  No! 
I’ll seek my father, put him face to face
With his own falsehood; and I’ll stand between,
Awful as justice, meting out to him
Heaven’s dreadful canons ’gainst his conscious guilt. 
I’ll marry Lanciotto.  On my faith,
I would not live another wicked day
Here, in Ravenna, only for the fear
That I should take to lying, with the rest. 
Ha! ha! it makes me merry, when I think
How safe I kept this little heart of mine! [Laughing.
                                           [Exit, with ATTENDANTS, etc.

RITTA.  So, ’tis all ended—­all except my boiling,
And that will make a holiday for some. 
Perhaps I’m selfish.  Fagot, axe, and gallows,
They have their uses, after all.  They give
The lookers-on a deal of harmless sport. 
Though one may suffer, twenty hundred laugh;
And that’s a point gained.  I have seen a man—­
Poor Dora’s uncle—­shake himself with glee,
At the bare thought of the ridiculous style
In which some villain died.  “Dancing,” quoth he,
“To the poor music of a single string! 
Biting,” quoth he, “after his head was off! 
What use of that?” Or, “Shivering,” quoth he,
“As from an ague, with his beard afire!”
And then he’d roar until his ugly mouth
Split at the corners.  But to see me boil—­
that will be the queerest thing of all! 
I wonder if they’ll put me in a bag,
Like a great suet-ball?  I’ll go, and tell
Count Guido, on the instant.  How he’ll laugh
To think his pot has got an occupant! 
I wonder if he really takes delight
In such amusements?  Nay, I have kept faith;
I only said the man was not Lanciotto;
No word of Lanciotto’s ugliness. 
I may escape the pot, for all.  Pardee! 
I wonder if they’ll put me in a bag!
          
                                               [Exit, laughing.