COUNT.
Good mother, happy was the prodigal son,
For he return'd to the rich father; I
But add my poverty to thine. And all
Thro' following of my fancy. Pray thee make
Thy slender meal out of those scraps and shreds
Filippo spoke of. As for him and me,
There sprouts a salad in the garden still.
(_To the Falcon_?) Why didst thou miss thy quarry yester-even?
To-day, my beauty, thou must dash us down
Our dinner from the skies. Away, Filippo!
[_Exit, followed by_ FILIPPO.
ELISABETTA.
I knew it would come to this. She has beggared him. I always knew it
would come to this! (_Goes up to table as if to resume darning, and
looks out of window_.) Why, as I live, there is Monna Giovanna coming
down the hill from the castle. Stops and stares at our cottage. Ay,
ay! stare at it: it's all you have left us. Shame upon you! She
beautiful! sleek as a miller's mouse! Meal enough, meat enough, well
fed; but beautiful--bah! Nay, see, why she turns down the path
through our little vineyard, and I sneezed three times this morning.
Coming to visit my lord, for the first time in her life too! Why,
bless the saints! I'll be bound to confess her love to him at last.
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