Thomaso.—That’s easy to say, but quite out of my power.
Pietrino.—Mercy on me, how my teeth chatter.
Baluzzo.—Prithee, Abellino, be composed for a moment or two, your gaiety at a time like this is quite horrible.
Cinthia.—Oh, me! oh, me! Poor murdered Matteo.
Abellino.—Hey-day. Why, what is all this! Cinthia, my life, are you not ashamed of being such a child? Come, let you and I renew that conversation which my sending you to wake these gentlemen interrupted. Sit down by me, sweetheart, and give me a kiss.
Cinthia.—Out upon you, monster.
Abellino.—What, have you altered your mind, my pretty dear? Well, well, with all my heart, when you are in the humour, perhaps I may not have the inclination.
Baluzzo.—Death and the devil, Abellino, is this a time for talking nonsense? Prithee keep such trash for a fitter occasion, and let us consider what we are to do just now.
Pietrino.—Nay, this is no season for trifling.
Struzza.—Tell us, Abellino; you are a clever fellow; what course is it best for us to take?