PAOLO.  Grammercy!  Lanciotto, are you sane? 
You boasted yesterday—­

LANCIOTTO.  And changed to-day. 
Is that so strange?  I always mend the fault
Of yesterday with wisdom of to-day. 
She does not love me.

PAOLO.  Pshaw! she marries you: 
’Twere proof enough for me.

  LANCIOTTO.  Perhaps, she loves you.

PAOLO.  Me, Lanciotto, me!  For mercy’s sake,
Blot out such thoughts—­they madden me!  What, love—­
She love—­yet marry you!

LANCIOTTO.  It moves you much. 
’Twas but a fleeting fancy, nothing more.

  PAOLO.  You have such wild conjectures!

LANCIOTTO.  Well, to me
They seem quite tame; they are my bed-fellows. 
Think, to a modest woman, what must be
The loathsome kisses of an unloved man—­
A gross, coarse ruffian!

  PAOLO.  O! good heavens, forbear!

  LANCIOTTO.  What shocks you so?

PAOLO.  The picture which you draw,
Wronging yourself by horrid images.

LANCIOTTO.  Until she love me, till I know, beyond
The cavil of a doubt, that she is mine—­
Wholly, past question—­do you think that I
Could so afflict the woman whom I love?

  PAOLO.  You love her, Lanciotto!

LANCIOTTO.  Next to you,
Dearer than anything in nature’s scope.

PAOLO. [Aside.] O!  Heaven, that I must bear this!  Yes, and more,—­
More torture than I dare to think upon,
Spreads out before me with the coming years,
And holds a record blotted with my tears,
As that which I must suffer!

LANCIOTTO.  Come, Paolo,
Come help me woo.  I need your guiding eye,
To signal me, if I should sail astray.

  PAOLO.  O! torture, torture! [Aside.

LANCIOTTO.  You and I, perchance,
Joining our forces, may prevail at last. 
They call love like a battle.  As for me,
I’m not a soldier equal to such wars,
Despite my arduous schooling.  Tutor me
In the best arts of amorous strategy. 
I am quite raw, Paolo.  Glances, sighs,
Sweets of the lip, and arrows of the eye,
Shrugs, cringes, compliments, are new to me;
And I shall handle them with little art. 
Will you instruct me?

PAOLO.  Conquer for yourself. 
Two captains share one honour:  keep it all. 
What if I ask to share the spoils?

LANCIOTTO. [Laughing.] Ha! ha! 
I’ll trust you, brother.  Let us go to her: 
Francesca is neglected while we jest. 
I know not how it is, but your fair face,
And noble figure, always cheer me up,
More than your words; there’s healing in them, too,
For my worst griefs.  Dear brother, let us in. [Exeunt.