LANCIOTTO.  A wife for me! [Laughing.

MALATESTA.  Ay, sir, a wife for you. 
You shall be married, to insure your wits.

  LANCIOTTO.  ’Tis not your wont to mock me.

MALATESTA.  How now, son! 
I am not given to jesting.  I have chosen
The fairest wife in Italy for you. 
You won her bravely, as a soldier should: 
And when you’d woo her, stretch your gauntlet out,
And crush her fingers in its steely grip. 
If you will plead, I ween, she dare not say—­
No, by your leave.  Should she refuse, howe’er,
With that same iron hand you shall go knock
Upon Ravenna’s gates, till all the town
Ring with your courtship.  I have made her hand
The price and pledge of Guido’s future peace.

  LANCIOTTO.  All this is done!

MALATESTA.  Done, out of hand; and now
I wait a formal answer, nothing more. 
Guido dare not decline.  No, by the saints,
He’d send Ravenna’s virgins here in droves,
To buy a ten days’ truce.

LANCIOTTO.  Sir, let me say,
You stretch paternal privilege too far,
To pledge my hand without my own consent. 
Am I a portion of your household stuff,
That you should trade me off to Guido thus? 
Who is the lady I am bartered for?

MALATESTA.  Francesca, Guido’s daughter.—­Never frown;
It shall be so!

LANCIOTTO.  By heaven, it shall not be! 
My blood shall never mingle with his race.

MALATESTA.  According to your nurse’s prophecy,
Fate orders it.

  LANCIOTTO.  Ha!

MALATESTA.  Now, then, I have struck
The chord that answers to your gloomy thoughts. 
Bah! on your sibyl and her prophecy! 
Put Guido’s blood aside, and yet, I say,
Marry you shall.

  LANCIOTTO.  ’Tis most distasteful, sir.

MALATESTA.  Lanciotto, look ye!  You brave gentlemen,
So fond of knocking out poor people’s brains,
In time must come to have your own knocked out: 
What, then, if you bequeath us no new hands,
To carry on your business, and our house
Die out for lack of princes?

LANCIOTTO.  Wed my brothers: 
They’ll rear you sons, I’ll slay you enemies. 
Paolo and Francesca!  Note their names;
They chime together like sweet marriage-bells. 
A proper match.  ’Tis said she’s beautiful;
And he is the delight of Rimini,—­
The pride and conscious centre of all eyes,
The theme of poets, the ideal of art,
The earthly treasury of Heaven’s best gifts! 
I am a soldier; from my very birth,
Heaven cut me out for terror, not for love. 
I had such fancies once, but now—­

MALATESTA.  Pshaw! son,
My faith is bound to Guido; and if you
Do not throw off your duty, and defy,
Through sickly scruples, my express commands,
You’ll yield at once.  No more:  I’ll have it so! [Exit.