A twisted, withered, hunch-backed court buffoon,—
A thing to make mirth, and to be made mirth of;
A something betwixt ape and man,—that claims
To run in couples with your ladyship.
You hunt Manfredi; I hunt Malatesta.
Let 's try which of the two has sharper fangs!
[Manfredi and Ginevra appear in the background, R.
The Duke and Malatesta's wife! [He retires up stage.
MANFREDI.
Not yet,—but one more round! The feast is blank
For me when you are gone. The flowers lack perfume,
Missing your fragrant breath. The music sounds
Harsh and untunable when your sweet voice
Makes no more under melody. Oh, stay!
GINEVRA.
I am summoned, sir; my husband waits for me.
MANFREDI.
What spoil-sports are these husbands! [Aside.] And these wives
Per Bacco! I could wish Count Malatesta
Would lend my duchess escort to Bologna,
So we were both well rid. [Malatesta beckons to Ginevra.
GINEVRA.
Your pardon, sir.
My husband beckons. It is I, not you,
Must bear his moods to-night; I dare not stay.
MANFREDI.
I would not bring a cloud to your fair brow
For all Faenza. Fare you well, sweet lady!
[He leads her to Malatesta.
