Mortadello

4 MORTADELLO ALESSANDRO. A woman’s whim ? For doubtless every one says his wife poisoned him. LUCREZIA. And Mortadello rules in everything but name. ALESSANDRO. This comedy of fools ! He weds the widowed dame ? LUCREZIA. Why, yes ! You’re shrewd as shrewd ! Lorenzo you are dumb ! ALESSANDRO. Yes, but he’s lewd as lewd ! It’s all you need, in sum ! LUCREZIA. And you’re as rude as rude ! ALESSANDRO. I’m sorry ; those things come Like lightning. Is there none makes head against him still ? LUCREZIA. Of course, there is the one. ALESSANDRO. That girl ! LORENZO. O miracle Of heaven, a virgin sent from heaven in purest pity With innermost intent to save our hapless city. O Monica ! the meek and mystic eremite ! ALESSANDRO. No gardeners ? It’s odd !—O maid of—who God knows ! LORENZO. Her knees are worn with prayers ! With fasts her frame is weak ! ALESSANDRO. I know—I have been there ! I could not move or speak ! LORENZO. Yours is a loathsome mind. ALESSANDRO. You—cultivate the same ! These ladies you might find reciprocate your flame. With love the man who trifles, advancement surely misses— Affairs of state one stifles with very skilful kisses !