Bianca. It must be he, none else could give so much.
Maria. ’Tis he, ’tis my lord Guido, Guido Bardi.
Bianca. What said you?
Maria. I, I said my mistress never
Looked at the gold, never opened the purse,
Never counted a coin. But asked again
What she had asked before, ‘How young you looked?
How handsome your lordship looked? What doublet
Your majesty had on? What chains, what hose
Upon your revered legs?’ And curtseyed
I, . . .
Bianca. What said he?
Maria. Curtseyed I, and he replied,
‘Has she a lover then beside that old
Soured husband or is it him she loves, my God!
Is it him?’
Bianca. Well?
Maria. Curtseyed I low and said
‘Not him, my lord, nor you, nor no man else.
Thou art rich, my lord, and honoured, my lord, and she
Though not so rich is honoured . . .’
Bianca. Fool, you fool,
I never bid you say a word of that.
Maria. Nor did I say a word of that you said;
I said, ‘She loves him not, my lord, nor loves
Any man else. Yet she might like to love,
If she were loved by one who pleased her well;
For she is weary of spinning long alone.
She is not rich and yet she is not poor; but young
She is, my lord, and you are young.