I'm thirsty to employ my liberty.
Come, my familiar, help me to some mischief,—
Some pleasant deviltry, with just the spice
Of sin to make the enjoyment exquisite.
BERTUCCIO.
Let's see! Throat-cutting's pleasant, but that 's stale;
Plotting has savour in it, but 't is too tedious;
Say, a campaign with Ordelaffi's band,
So you may feed all the seven sins at once?
MANFREDI.
Out, barren hound! thy wits are growing dull.
BERTUCCIO.
A man can't always be finding out new sins,—
Think they're as hard to hit on as new pleasures.
My head on 't, Alexander had not run
So wide a round of pleasures as you of sins,
And yet he offered kingdoms for a new one.
You must invoke Asmodeus, not Beelzebub.
MANFREDI.
What's he?
BERTUCCIO.
The devil specially charged with love;
He has more work to do than all the infernal legion.
There's Malatesta's wife; she's young and fair,
And good, they say. Rare matter for sin there,
Though 't is the oldest of them all.
MANFREDI.
But show me
How to win her! She's cold as she is fair;
I have spent enough sweet speech to have softened stone,
And all in vain.
