You have said nothing, then?

RITTA. Indeed, my lord.

GUIDO. 'Tis well. Some years ago,
My daughter had a very silly maid,
Who told her sillier stories. So, one day,
This maiden whispered something I forbade--
In strictest confidence, for she was sly:
What happened, think you?

RITTA. I know not, my lord.

GUIDO. I boiled her in a pot.

RITTA. Good heaven! my lord.

GUIDO. She did not like it. I shall keep that pot
Ready for the next boiling.

[_Walks back to the others._

RITTA. Saints above!
I wonder if he ate her! Boil me--me!
I'll roast or stew with pleasure; but to boil
Implies a want of tenderness,--or rather
A downright toughness--in the matter boiled,
That's slanderous to a maiden. What, boil me--
Boil me! O! mercy, how ridiculous!

[_Retires, laughing._

_Enter a_ MESSENGER.

MESSENGER. Letters, my lord, from great Prince Malatesta.
[_Presents them, and exit._

GUIDO. [_Aside._] Hear him, ye gods!--"from great Prince Malatesta!"
Greeting, no doubt, his little cousin Guido.
Well, well, just so we see-saw up and down.
[_Reads._]
_"Fearing our treachery,"_--by heaven, that's blunt,
And Malatesta-like!--_"he will not send
His son, Lanciotto, to Ravenna, but"_--
But what?--a groom, a porter? or will he
Have his prey sent him in an iron cage?
By Jove, he shall not have her! O! no, no;
_"He sends his younger son, the Count Paolo,
To fetch Francesca back to Rimini."_
That's well, if he had left his reasons out.
And, in a postscript--by the saints, 'tis droll!--
_"'Twould not be worth your lordship's while to shut
Paolo in a prison; for, my lord,
I'll only pay his ransom in plain steel:
Besides, he's not worth having."_ Is there one,
Save this ignoble offshoot of the Goths,
Who'd write such garbage to a gentleman?
Take that, and read it. [_Gives letter to_ CARDINAL.

CARDINAL. I have done the most.
She seems suspicious.

GUIDO. Ritta's work.

CARDINAL. Farewell!

FRANCESCA. Father, you seem distempered.

GUIDO. No, my child,
I am but vexed. Your husband's on the r