The garlic from my beard? But here 's the cage
That holds our bird. We must ensconce ourselves,
For they'll be here anon; vespers were over
Before we entered.
MANFREDI.
Thanks to your device
Of the forged key. Yet that was scarcely needed;
I've climbed more break-neck balconies than that
[Pointing to window.
Without a silken ladder! [Looking about.] So—a lute—
A missal—flowers!—more tokens of a maid
Than of a mistress! Well, so much the better;
I long to see the girl. Is she as fair
As Serafino painted?
TORELLI.
Faith, my lord,
She's fair enough to justify more sonnets
Than e'er fat Petrarch pumped out for his Laura.
She is a paragon of blushing girlhood,
Full of temptation to the finger-tips.
I marvel at myself, that e'er I yielded
This amorous enterprise, even to you—
But that my loyalty outbears my love.
MANFREDI.
I will requite your loyalty; fear not;
But where shall we bestow ourselves?
TORELLI (lifting the arras from the recess).
In here;
The old crone showed it me but now there's cover
And peeping-place sufficient. Hark! they come!
Stand close, my lord.
