[PAOLO stands before him.]

Out of my way, thou juggler! [Exit.

  PAOLO.  He is gone!

ACT V.

SCENE I. The Same.  The Garden of the Castle.  Enter PEPE, singing.

PEPE.  ’Tis jolly to walk in the shady greenwood
With a damsel by your side;
’Tis jolly to walk from the chapel-door,
With the hand of your pretty bride;
’Tis jolly to rest your weary head,
When life runs low and hope is fled,
On the heart where you confide: 
’Tis jolly, jolly, jolly, they say,
They say—­but I never tried.

Nor shall I ever till they dress their girls
In motley suits, and pair us, to increase
The race of fools.  ’Twould be a noble thing,
A motley woman, had she wit enough
To bear the bell.  But there’s the misery: 
You may make princes out of any stuff;
Fools come by nature.  She’ll make fifty kings—­
Good, hearty tyrants, sound, cruel governors—­
For one fine fool.  There is Paolo, now,
A sweet-faced fellow with a wicked heart—­
Talk of a flea, and you begin to scratch. 
Lo! here he comes.  And there’s fierce crook-back’s bride
Walking beside him—­O, how gingerly! 
Take care, my love! that is the very pace
We trip to hell with.  Hunchback is away—­
That was a fair escape for you; but, then,
The devil’s ever with us, and that’s worse. 
See, the Ravenna giglet, Mistress Ritta,
And melancholy as a cow.—­How’s this? 
I’ll step aside, and watch you, pretty folks.
                                                [Hides behind the bushes.

Enter PAOLO and FRANCESCA, followed by RITTA. He seats himself in an arbour, and reads. RITTA and FRANCESCA advance.

  FRANCESCA.  Ritta.

  RITTA.  My lady.

  FRANCESCA.  You look tired.

  RITTA.  I’m not.

  FRANCESCA.  Go to your chamber.

RITTA.  I would rather stay. 
If it may please you.  I require a walk
And the fresh atmosphere of breathing flowers,
To stir my blood.  I am not very well.

FRANCESCA.  I knew it, child.  Go to your chamber, dear. 
Paolo has a book to read to me.

RITTA.  What, the romance?  I should so love to hear! 
I dote on poetry; and Count Paolo
Sweetens the Tuscan with his mellow voice. 
I’m weary now, quite weary, and would rest.

  FRANCESCA.  Just now you wished to walk.

RITTA.  Ah! did I so? 
Walking or resting, I would stay with you.

FRANCESCA.  The Count objects.  He told me, yesterday,
That you were restless while he read to me;
And stirred your feet amid the grass, and sighed,
And yawned, until he almost paused.