Part 6

BIANCA. It must be he, none else could give so much.

MARIA. ’Tis he, ’tis my lord Guido, Guido Bardi.

BIANCA. What said you?

MARIA. I, I said my mistress never Looked at the gold, never opened the purse, Never counted a coin. But asked again What she had asked before, ‘How young you looked? How handsome your lordship looked? What doublet Your majesty had on? What chains, what hose Upon your revered legs?’ And curtseyed I, . . .

BIANCA. What said he?

MARIA. Curtseyed I, and he replied, ‘Has she a lover then beside that old Soured husband or is it him she loves, my God! Is it him?’

BIANCA. Well?

MARIA. Curtseyed I low and said ‘Not him, my lord, nor you, nor no man else. Thou art rich, my lord, and honoured, my lord, and she Though not so rich is honoured . . .’

BIANCA. Fool, you fool, I never bid you say a word of that.

MARIA. Nor did I say a word of that you said; I said, ‘She loves him not, my lord, nor loves Any man else. Yet she might like to love, If she were loved by one who pleased her well; For she is weary of spinning long alone. She is not rich and yet she is not poor; but young She is, my lord, and you are young.

BIANCA. Quick, quick!

MARIA. There, there! ’Twas but to show you how I smiled Saying the lord was young. It took him too; For he said, ‘This will do! If I should call To-night to pay respect unto your lovely— Our lovely mistress, tell her that I said, Our lovely mistress, shall I be received?’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Then say I come and if All else is well let her throw down some favour When as I pass below.’ He should be there! Look from the balcony; he should be there!— And there he is, dost see?

BIANCA. Some favour. Yes. This ribbon weighted by this brooch will do. Maria, be you busy near within, but, till I call take care you enter not. Go down And let the young lord in, for hark, he knocks.

Great ladies might he choose from and yet he Is drawn . . . ah, there my fear is! Was he drawn By love to me—by love’s young strength alone? That’s where it is, if I were sure he loved, I then might do what greater dames have done And venge me on a husband blind to beauty. But if! Ah if! he is a wandering bee, Mere gallant taster, who befools poor flowers . . .

My lord, I learn that we have something here, In this poor house, which thou dost wish to buy. My husband is from home, but my poor fate Has made me perfect in the price of velvets, Of silks and gay brocades. I think you offered Some forty thousand crowns, or fifty thousand, For something we have here? And it must be That wonder of the loom, which my Simone Has lately home; it is a Lucca damask, The web is silver over-wrought with roses. Since you did offer fifty thousand crowns It must be that. Pray wait, for I will fetch it.

GUIDO. Nay, nay, thou gracious wonder of a loom More cunning far than those of Lucca, I Had in my thought no damask silver cloth By hunch-back weavers woven toilsomely, If such are priced at fifty thousand crowns It shames me, for I hoped to buy a fabric For which a hundred thousand then were little.

BIANCA. A hundred thousand was it that you said? Nay, poor Simone for so great a sum Would sell you everything the house contains. The thought of such a sum doth daze the brains Of merchant folk who live such lives as ours.

GUIDO. Would he sell everything this house contains? And every one, would he sell every one?

BIANCA. Oh, everything and every one, my lord, Unless it were himself; he values not A woman as a velvet, or a wife At half the price of silver-threaded woof.

GUIDO. Then I would strike a bargain with him straight,

BIANCA. He is from home; may be will sleep from home; But I, my lord, can show you all we have; Can measure ells and sum their price, my lord.

GUIDO. It is thyself, Bianca, I would buy.

BIANCA. O, then, my lord, it must be with Simone You strike your bargain; for to sell myself Would be to do what I most truly loathe. Good-night, my lord; it is with deep regret I find myself unable to oblige Your lordship.

GUIDO. Nay, I pray thee let me stay And pardon me the sorry part I played, As though I were a chapman and intent To lower prices, cheapen honest wares.

BIANCA. My lord, there is no reason you should stay.

GUIDO. Thou art my reason, peerless, perfect, thou, The reason I am here and my life’s goal, For I was born to love the fairest things . . .

BIANCA. To buy the fairest things that can be bought.

GUIDO. Cruel Bianca! Cover me with scorn, I answer born to love thy priceless self, That never to a market could be brought, No more than winged souls that sail and soar Among the planets or about the moon.