Page:Victor Hugo's Works (Guernsey Edition) v14.djvu/42

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Nay, I 'd not have the rascal harmed; he's bitter,

But shrewdly witty, and he makes me laugh.

No, spare me my buffoon; who does him harm,

Shall answer it to me.

'T were a rare plot to make the knave believe

Our scheme still held against old Malatesta,—

That his Ginevra was the game we followed.

So give him a rendezvous a mile away;

And while he waits our coming, to break open

The mew where he keeps close his tassel-gentle.

Ne'er trust a poet. What if he betrayed us?

He 's truth itself; and where he gives his faith,

'T is better than a bond of your Lorenzo's.

Swear him to secrecy.

Your hand upon it:

You'll not spoil our sport by breaking to Bertuccio

What we intend?

But think, oh, think, my lord,

What if this were no mistress—as—if looks

Have privilege to reveal the soul—she is none!