THE SPAGNOLETTO.
249
tiny shoe of hers would make me free to wed my lad.
LUCA.
If he have but eyes, I warrant thee he finds jewels enough in thy bright face. Tell me his name.
FIAMETTA.
Nay, that is my secret.
LUCA.
He must be a poor-souled lad if he will wait till thou hast earned a dowry.
FIAMETTA.
A poor-souled lad! my good Vicenzo—ah! but no matter; thou knowest him, Luca, my Lord Lorenzo s page. There!—is he poor, or mean, or plain, or dull? He claims no dowry, he—but I have my pride, as well as great ones.
LUCA.
May the saints preserve thee from such as theirs! I am heartily glad of thy good fortune. I am not sure whether thou or Lady Maria-Rosa be the most favored. Well, the end proves all.
[Exeunt.
