Setting: The countryside, hilly and rocky.
(Enter Jacoby and Gialletta. Gialletta carries an empty wooden bucket.)
Jacoby: Verily in truth do swell the wicks of fortune! The well atop!
Gialletta: (aside) My frail strictions bear full weight. The catchpot I hoist here whilst the clown spies clear blood. (aloud) Pray fortunes be turn'd on completion?
J: Prattle with foot, not mouth. Buckets belong best in doves' talons. To th'o'erplac'd store!
G: To water, I prattle of foot, for throat. For water, quench here a wench.
(They struggle up the hill)
J: The way rubbled.
G: Sooth, skirts make for infirmed steps.
J: The prized den lays by.
G: Pray the sky holds.
J: Progress there, the water within. Tie strand to handle and down the chann'l.
G: (doing so) Inside, inside, and lower. The substance struck! Out, out and higher, claim the vessel, avoid'd ne'er longer.
J: (taking bucket) West to homeward! Slight, the wind anew presses! The clean morsels of our hunt be ferry'd yon.
G: Sooth, yon anon!
J: Faulted here, the breath of earth riffles my composure! O! Calumny! I fall, I fall.
(he falls down the hill)
G: Fair son, fair lover, fair water dashed! Fair crown splitteth! Curses of his sighs, strengthen so, my lines bend with the wishes of the drafter. Pate o'er stumps, I tumble too, ever after. O! Shith!
(she also falls down the hill)