PAOLO. Lady, I'll not be catechized.
FRANCESCA. Ha! Count!
PAOLO. No! if you press me further, I will say
A word to madden you.—Stand still! You stray
Around the margin of a precipice.
I know what pleasure 'tis to pluck the flowers
That hang above destruction, and to gaze
Into the dread abyss, to see such things
As may be safely seen. Tis perilous:
The eye grows dizzy as we gaze below,
And a wild wish possesses us to spring
Into the vacant air. Beware, beware!
Lest this unholy fascination grow
Too strong to conquer!
FRANCESCA. You talk wildly, Count;
There's not a gleam of sense in what you say;
I cannot hit your meaning.
PAOLO. Lady, come!
FRANCESCA. Count, you are cruel! [Weeps.
PAOLO. O! no; I would be kind.
But now, while reason over-rides my heart,
And seeming anger plays its braggart part—
In heaven's name, come!
FRANCESCA. One word—one question more:
Is it your wish this marriage should proceed?
PAOLO. It is.
FRANCESCA. Come on! You shall not take my hand:
I'll walk alone—now, and forever!