OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 
89 
 
Under my lord to reach incredible success. 
But he has wit to teach—a smile and a caress. 
MORTADELLO.  Yet you are to instruct our Sandro how to 
woo ! 
MONICA.  This is the usufruct of your instruction too ! 
MORTADELLO.  I own defeat of wit.  Fair lady, lead me hence ! 
 
 
 
[LUCREZIA goes on MORTADELLO’S arm. 
MONICA.  Be merciful to it ! 
LUCREZIA. 
O trust my indolence ! 
MORTADELLO.  She scorns to measure swords. 
LUCREZIA. 
 
Indeed, it is the heat. 
ALESSANDRO.  Your lady’s laugh accords. 
MORTADELLO. 
 
The masculine’s effete. 
 
 
 
[He goes off flirting with LUCREZIA. 
MONICA.  See Mortadello bloom, a poppy ! 
ALESSANDRO. 
Which you nip. 
Its colour and perfume were stolen from your lip. 
MONICA.  I dare not take my own. 
ALESSANDRO. 
 
Not I the flower I need. 
MONICA.  My hope is overblown, yet will not scatter seed. 
ALESSANDRO.  A prudent gardener prunes ;  but shall I fix the 
graff ? 
MONICA.  Write me this afternoon’s intimate epitaph ? 
ALESSANDRO.  You know I do not dare. 
MONICA. 
 
Till now you have dared all. 
There is a God whose care lets never a sparrow fall. 
ALESSANDRO.  If Lesbia laughs, I would. 
MONICA.  [Folding her hands in prayer.]  Take care, you 
lose your labour. 
ALESSANDRO.  Does love for God exclude a passion for your 
neighbor ?