Polastrella and Parpagnaccio, an astrologer restive to love I

a woman can’t call herself a beauty if she has less than 30 lovers queuing for her.
I have 29 of them, but I’m not satisfied because I want one more.
Honour is in in the great numbers of spoonies and the credit to be beautiful.
But now Parpagnacco is coming, what  a luck.
If he could love me, I would be happy.
He says he is an astrologer,
and against all women.
He is silly, ugly, old, I don’t care,
I want seduce him and laugh at him, not loving him

The Moon is at the third quarter,
so women are more untrustworthy than usual,
what a wonder, astrologising
Polastrella My lord…
Parpagnacco No, no
Polastrella:  Please
Parpagnacco: Go, go
Polastrella: At least
Parpagnacco: Away, away
Polastrella: just a couple of words
Parpagnacco: fast
Polastrella: I’d like to know
Parpagnacco: It’s impossible
Polastrella: I’m your servant
Parpagnacco: Good morning, good night and good afternoon
Polastrella: Am I boring?
Parpagnacco: she wants to touch, go behind
Polastrella: but why?
Parpagnacco: No. Stay behind. Who are you?
Polastrella: Your servant Polastrella.
Parpagnacco: I don’t care anything about you, stay behind.
Polastrella: But being near you is a so big mistake?
Parpagnacco: Polastrella is looking for the cock
Polastrella: Tell me please
Parpagnacco: Are you a woman?
Polastrella: I’m your servant
Parpagnacco: My planet told me that a woman can ruin me
Polastrella: Hear me please
Parpagnacco: Stop. Is it allowed to talk with a man without permission?
Polastrella: It is easiness
Parpagnacco: It is impertinence


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