FRANCESCA.  Nothing, nothing, Ritta. 
Though gold’s the standard measure of the world,
And seems to lighten everything beside. 
Yet heap the other passions in the scale,
And balance them ’gainst that which gold outweighs—­
Against this love—­and you shall see how light
The most supreme of them are in the poise! 
I speak by book and history; for love
Slights my high fortunes.  Under cloth of state
The urchin cowers from pompous etiquette,
Waiving his function at the scowl of power,
And seeks the rustic cot to stretch his limbs
In homely freedom.  I fulfil a doom. 
We who are topmost on this heap of life
Are nearer to heaven’s hand than you below;
And so are used, as ready instruments,
To work its purposes.  Let envy hide
Her witless forehead at a prince’s name,
And fix her hopes upon a clown’s content. 
You, happy lowly, know not what it is
To groan beneath the crowned yoke of state,
And bear the goadings of the sceptre.  Ah! 
Fate drives us onward in a narrow way,
Despite our boasted freedom.

[Enter PAOLO, with PAGES bearing torches.]

Gracious saints! 
What brought you here?

PAOLO.  The bridegroom waits.

FRANCESCA.  He does? 
Let him wait on forever!  I’ll not go! 
O! dear Paolo—­

PAOLO.  Sister!

FRANCESCA.  It is well. 
I have been troubled with a sleepless night. 
My brain is wild.  I know not what I say. 
Pray, do not call me sister:  it is cold. 
I never had a brother, and the name
Sounds harshly to me.  When you speak to me,
Call me Francesca.

  PAOLO.  You shall be obeyed.

FRANCESCA.  I would not be obeyed.  I’d have you do it
Because—­because you love me—­as a sister—­
And of your own good-will, not my command,
Would please me.—­Do you understand?

PAOLO.  Too well! [Aside.]
’Tis a nice difference.

FRANCESCA.  Yet you understand? 
Say that you do.

  PAOLO.  I do.

FRANCESCA.  That pleases me. 
’Tis flattering if our—­friends appreciate
Our nicer feelings.

  PAOLO.  I await you, lady.

FRANCESCA.  Ritta, my gloves.—­Ah! yes, I have them on;
Though I’m not quite prepared.  Arrange my veil;
It folds too closely.  That will do; retire. [RITTA retires.]
So, Count Paolo, you have come, hot haste,
To lead me to the church,—­to have your share
In my undoing?  And you came, in sooth,
Because they sent you?  You are very tame! 
And if they sent, was it for you to come?

PAOLO.  Lady, I do not understand this scorn. 
I came, as is my duty, to escort
My brother’s bride to him.  When next you’re called,
I’ll send a lackey.