Dante. Tell me the truth.
Beatrice. The report is general.
Dante. The truth! the truth! Tell me, Bice.
Beatrice. Marriages, it is said, are made in heaven.
Dante. Is heaven then under the paternal roof?
Beatrice. It has been to me hitherto.
Dante. And now you seek it elsewhere.
Beatrice. I seek it not. The wiser choose for the weaker. Nay, do not sigh so. What would you have, my grave pensive Dante? What can I do?
Dante. Love me.
Beatrice. I always did.