FRANCESCA. But he will not read.
RITTA. Let me go ask him. [Runs toward PAOLO.
FRANCESCA. Stop! Come hither, Ritta.
[She returns.]
I saw your new embroidery in the hall,—
The needle in the midst of Argus' eyes;
It should be finished.
RITTA. I will bring it here.—
O no! my finger's sore; I cannot work.
FRANCESCA. Go to your room.
RITTA. Let me remain, I pray.
'Tis better, lady; you may wish for me:
I know you will be sorry if I go.
FRANCESCA. I shall not, girl. Do as I order you.
Will you be headstrong?
RITTA. Do you wish it, then?
FRANCESCA. Yes, Ritta.
RITTA. Yet you made pretexts enough,
Before you ordered.