(Seizes her again.)
It grows upon these lips—and if to-night
They leant out over the brink of Hell, I would.
(She breaks from him.)
Filippa. Enough! the wine! the wine!
Sancia. O ever-thirsty
And ever-thrifty Pippa! Well, pour out![21]
(She lifts a brimming cup.)
We'll drink to Messer Petrarca—
Who's weary of his bed-mate, Solitude.
May he long revel in the courts of Venus!
All (drinking). Aih, long!
Petrarca. As long as Sancia enchants them!
Filippa. I'd trust him not, Sancia. Put him to oath.