Abbe Filosi. Perhaps I had better not do that, Reverendissima. Poets are proverbially improvident—
Abbess. That does not matter in the least. Whatever he charges, I shall beat him down.
[The Sister Sacristan brings in the Puppet Man, who carries a bag of his puppets on his arm. He bows extravagantly to the Abbess.]
Puppet Man. Excellenza Reverendissima, my prayers shall in the future be lightened by the memory of your presence. Reverend Father, I am humbly your servant.
[The Abbess nods to Father Filosi.]
Abbe Filosi. You have been summoned here, sir, with regard to the Shrove Tuesday play which her Excellenza condescends to give for the edification of the friends of this noble convent. She has commissioned me to write the poem, and she graciously proposes to allow you to perform it with your puppets.
Puppet Man. I am honored, and in me all my craft is honored.
Abbe Filosi. I have here the manuscript of my poor device.
Puppet Man. I cannot have so excellent a work so slightly spoken of.
Abbe Filosi. A trifle ... a trifle. But I trust, when you have done your part, it may amuse the novices and the ladies—noble guests of Our Lady of the Rosebush.