In scorn, and his hot suit denied;
For her affections were all firmly planted
In Don Andrea’s bosom; yet, unwise,
He still pursued it with blind lover’s eyes.
Then hired he me with gold—O fate, thou elf!
To kill Andrea, which here killed himself;
For, not content to stay the time of murder,
He took Andrea’s shape unknown to me,
And in all parts disguised, as there you see,
Intending, as it seemed by that sly shift,