BIANCA. Some favour. Yes. This ribbon weighted by this brooch will do. Maria, be you busy near within, but, till I call take care you enter not. Go down And let the young lord in, for hark, he knocks. [_Exit_ MARIA.] Great ladies might he choose from and yet he Is drawn . . . ah, there my fear is! Was he drawn By love to me—by love’s young strength alone? That’s where it is, if I were sure he loved, I then might do what greater dames have done And venge me on a husband blind to beauty. But if! Ah if! he is a wandering bee, Mere gallant taster, who befools poor flowers . . . [MARIA _opens the door for_ GUIDO BARDI, _and then withdraws_.] My lord, I learn that we have something here, In this poor house, which thou dost wish to buy. My husband is from home, but my poor fate Has made me perfect in the price of velvets, Of silks and gay brocades. I think you offered Some forty thousand crowns, or fifty thousand, For something we have here? And it must be That wonder of the loom, which my Simone Has lately home; it is a Lucca damask, The web is silver over-wrought with roses. Since you did offer fifty thousand crowns It must be that. Pray wait, for I will fetch it. GUIDO. Nay, nay, thou gracious wonder of a loom More cunning far than those of Lucca, I Had in my thought no damask silver cloth By hunch-back weavers woven toilsomely, If such are priced at fifty thousand crowns It shames me, for I hoped to buy a fabric For which a hundred thousand then were little. BIANCA. A hundred thousand was it that you said? Nay, poor Simone for so great a sum Would sell you everything the house contains. The thought of such a sum doth daze the brains Of merchant folk who live such lives as ours. GUIDO. Would he sell everything this house contains? And every one, would he sell every one? BIANCA. Oh, everything and every one, my lord, Unless it were himself; he values not A woman as a velvet, or a wife At half the price of silver-threaded woof. GUIDO. Then I would strike a bargain with him straight, BIANCA. He is from home; may be will sleep from home; But I, my lord, can show you all we have; Can measure ells and sum their price, my lord. GUIDO. It is thyself, Bianca, I would buy. BIANCA. O, then, my lord, it must be with Simone You strike your bargain; for to sell myself Would be to do what I most truly loathe. Good-night, my lord; it is with deep regret I find myself unable to oblige Your lordship. GUIDO. Nay, I pray thee let me stay And pardon me the sorry part I played, As though I were a chapman and intent To lower prices, cheapen honest wares. BIANCA. My lord, there is no reason you should stay.