BERTUCCIO.
Now, now, Madonna, have you proof enough?
FRANCESCA.
Mountains of proof on proof, if proof were needed;
But had disproof come with them, and not proof,
'T is all too late.
BERTUCCIO.
How?
FRANCESCA.
I have drugged their wine.
They will sleep sound to-night. [She retires up stage.
BERTUCCIO (aside).
Choose woman's hands,
You that would have grim work nimbly dispatched!
Here 's Malatesta,—looking black as night!
So, Lord, I hope you liked your waking news?
Now—now—to gloat over his agony!
MALATESTA (not seeing The Duchess).
Ha, knave, I'd see the Duchess.
BERTUCCIO (looking at him curiously).
Marvellous!
MALATESTA.
How now?
BERTUCCIO.
To think that they can make such caps
To hide all trace of them!
MALATESTA.
Of what knave?
