Luigi. And such grace have they, now that the world ends!
The Python in the city, on the throne,
And grave men, God would crown for slaying him,
Lurk in bye-corners lest they fall his prey,
Are crowns yet to be won, in this late time,
Which weakness makes me hesitate to reach?
'Tis God's voice calls, how could I stay? Farewell!
First Girl. There goes a swallow to Venice—the stout seafarer!
Seeing those birds fly, makes one wish for wings.
Let us all wish; you, wish first!
Second Girl. I? This sunset
To finish—
Third Girl. That old—somebody I know,
Greyer and older than my grandfather,
To give me the same treat he gave last week—
Feeding me on his knee with fig-peckers,
Lampreys, and red Breganze-wine, and mumbling
The while some folly about how well I fare,
To be let eat my supper quietly:
Since had he not himself been late this morning
Detained at—never mind where,—had he not...
'Eh, baggage, had I not!'—
Second Girl. How she can lie!
Third Girl. Look there—by the nails!
Second Girl. What makes your fingers red?