MARIA.
Pray you, what thought, what dream, and what ambition?
I knew not I had uttered any such.
ANNICCA.
Nor have you in your speech; your eyes now veiled,
Where the light leaped to hear me voice his fame,
Your blushes and your pallor have betrayed
That which should lie uncounted fathom deep—
The secret of a woman's foolish heart.
MARIA.
And there it lies, my sibyl sister, still!
Your plummet hath not reached it. Yes, 't is love
Flaunts his triumphant colors in my cheek,
And quickens my lame speech—but not for him,
Not for the Prince—so may I vaunt his worth
With a free soul.
ANNICCA.
Say on.
MARIA.
A gentleman,
Favored of earth and heaven, true and loving,
Hath cast his heart at my imperial feet;
And if to-morrow find me as to-day,
I will e'en stoop and raise it to mine own.
ANNICCA.
Signor Vitruvio?
MARIA.
Not he, indeed!
Did not I say favored of earth and heaven?
That should mean other gifts than bags of gold,
Or a straight-featured mask. Nor will it be
Any you name, though you should name him right.
Must it not lie—how many fathom deep—
The secret of a woman's foolish heart?
ANNICCA.
Kiss me, Maria. You are still a child.
You cannot vex me, wilful as you be.
Your choice, I fear not, doubtless 't will prove wise,
Despite your wild wit, for your heart is pure,
And you will pause with sure deliberate judgment
Before you leave our father.
MARIA.
Does love steal
So gently o'er our soul? What if he come
A cloud, a fire, a whirlwind, to o'erbear
The feeble barriers wherewith we oppose him,
And blind our eyes and wrest from us our reason?
Fear not, Annicca, for in no such guise
He visits my calm breast; but yet you speak
Somewhat too sagely. Did such cautious wisdom
Guide your own fancy?
ANNICCA.
Jest no more, Maria.
Since I became a wife, is much made clear,
Which a brief year ago was dark and vague.
Tommaso loves me—we are happier
Then I had dreamed; yet matching now with then,
I see his love is not that large, rich passion
Our father bore us.