Duchess Yet out of these The singer, who is Love, will make a pipe And from them he draws music; so I think Love will bring music out of any life. Is that not true? Guido 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 Duchess Ah, dear, I wish that you and I were very poor; The poor, who love each other, are so rich. Guido Guido Tell me again you love me, Beatrice. Duchess [fingering his collar] Duchess How well this collar lies about your throat. [Lord Moranzone looks through the door from the corridor outside.] Lord Moranzone Guido Guido Nay, tell me that you love me.
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