SIMONE: True: I had forgotten, Nor will offend again. Yet, my sweet Lord, You'll buy the robe of state. Will you not buy it? But forty thousand crowns--'tis but a trifle, To one who is Giovanni Bardi's heir.
GUIDO: Settle this thing to-morrow with my steward, Antonio Costa. He will come to you. And you shall have a hundred thousand crowns If that will serve your purpose.
SIMONE: A hundred thousand! Said you a hundred thousand? Oh! be sure That will for all time and in everything Make me your debtor. Ay! from this time forth My house, with everything my house contains Is yours, and only yours.
A hundred thousand! My brain is dazed. I shall be richer far Than all the other merchants. I will buy Vineyards and lands and gardens. Every loom From Milan down to Sicily shall be mine, And mine the pearls that the Arabian seas Store in their silent caverns.
Generous Prince, This night shall prove the herald of my love, Which is so great that whatsoe'er you ask It will not be denied you.
GUIDO: What if I asked For white Bianca here?
SIMONE: You jest, my Lord; She is not worthy of so great a Prince. She is but made to keep the house and spin. Is it not so, good wife? It is so. Look! Your distaff waits for you. Sit down and spin. Women should not be idle in their homes, For idle fingers make a thoughtless heart. Sit down, I say.
BIANCA: What shall I spin?
SIMONE: Oh! spin Some robe which, dyed in purple, sorrow might wear For her own comforting: or some long-fringed cloth In which a new-born and unwelcome babe Might wail unheeded; or a dainty sheet Which, delicately perfumed with sweet herbs, Might serve to wrap a dead man. Spin what you will; I care not, I.
BIANCA: The brittle thread is broken, The dull wheel wearies of its ceaseless round, The duller distaff sickens of its load; I will not spin to-night.
SIMONE: It matters not. To-morrow you shall spin, and every day Shall find you at your distaff. So Lucretia Was found by Tarquin. So, perchance, Lucretia Waited for Tarquin. Who knows? I have heard Strange things about men's wives. And now, my lord, What news abroad? I heard to-day at Pisa That certain of the English merchants there Would sell their woollens at a lower rate Than the just laws allow, and have entreated The Signory to hear them.
Is this well? Should merchant be to merchant as a wolf? And should the stranger living in our land Seek by enforced privilege or craft To rob us of our profits?
GUIDO: What should I do With merchants or their profits? Shall I go And wrangle with the Signory on your count? And wear the gown in which you buy from fools, Or sell to sillier bidders? Honest Simone, Wool-selling or wool-gathering is for you. My wits have other quarries.
BIANCA: Noble Lord, I pray you pardon my good husband here, His soul stands ever in the market-place, And his heart beats but at the price of wool. Yet he is honest in his common way. [To Simone] And you, have you no shame? A gracious Prince Comes to our house, and you must weary him With most misplaced assurance. Ask his pardon.
SIMONE: I ask it humbly. We will talk to-night Of other things.