_Old Woman._ I would your Highness saw her! When that thief
Hangs upon Lazarus' bosom, he'll be bidding
A ducat for each drop of milk he's cost me,
To cool his tongue.

_Regent._ Ay--ay, the cow is sick,
I think; and mind me, being country-bred,
Of a cure for such: which is, to buy a comb
And comb the sufferer's tail at feeding-time.
If Zia Agnese do but this, she'll counter
The Evil Eye, and maybe with her own
Detect who thieves her Serafina's hay.

_Old Woman._ God bless your Highness!

_Nicolo._ God bless your Highness!

_Regent (taking up a fresh suit)._Why, what's here? "_Costanza,
Wife of Giuseppe Boni, citeth him
And sueth to live separate, for neglect
And divers beatings, as to wit----_" H'm, h'm--
_Likewise to keep the child Geronimo,
Begotten of his body._ You defend
The suit, Giuseppe?

_A Young Peasant (shrugs his shoulders)._ As the woman will!
I'll not deny I beat her.

_Regent._ But neglect!