Is that not true?
GUIDO
Sweet, women make it true.
There are men who paint pictures, and carve statues,
Paul of Verona and the dyer's son,
Or their great rival, who, by the sea at Venice,
Has set God's little maid upon the stair,
White as her own white lily, and as tall,
Or Raphael, whose Madonnas are divine
Because they are mothers merely; yet I think
Women are the best artists of the world,
For they can take the common lives of men
Soiled with the money-getting of our age,
And with love make them beautiful.
DUCHESS
Ah, dear,
I wish that you and I were very poor;
The poor, who love each other, are so rich.
GUIDO
Tell me again you love me, Beatrice.
DUCHESS
[fingering his collar]
How well this collar lies about your throat.
[LORD MORANZONE looks through the door from the corridor outside.]
GUIDO
Nay, tell me that you love me.
DUCHESS
I remember,
That when I was a child in my dear France,
Being at Court at Fontainebleau, the King
Wore such a collar.
GUIDO
Will you not say you love me?
DUCHESS
[smiling]
He was a very royal man, King Francis,
Yet he was not royal as you are.
Why need I tell you, Guido, that I love you?
[Takes his head in her hands and turns his face up to her.]
Do you not know that I am yours for ever,
Body and soul?
[Kisses him, and then suddenly catches sight of MORANZONE and leaps
up.
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