In part. I would not have his bulls abolish'd- [To the Spanish Soldiery. Well, cut-throats! What do you pause for? If you make not haste, And that were shame! Go to! Assist in their conversion. [The Soldiers disperse ; many quit the Church, others enter. Lie there, more like a worm than man; she cast it Upon his head. Arn. Even so; there is a woman Worthy a brave man's liking. Were ye such, Ye would have honour'd her. But get ye hence, And thank your meanness, other God you have none, For your existence. Had you touch'd a hair Of those dishevell'd locks, I would have thinn'd Your ranks more than the enemy. Away! Ye jackals! gnaw the bones the lion leaves, But not even these till he permits. A Sold. (murmuring). Might conquer for himself then. Arn. (cuts him down). The lion Mutineer! Rebel in hell-you shall obey on earth! [The Soldiers assault ARNO1.D. Arn. Come on! I'm glad on 't! I will show you, slaves, How you should be commanded, and who led you [ARNOLD mows down the foremost; the rest throw Soldiers. Arn. Then learn to grant it. Led you o'er Rome's eternal battlements? Soldiers. We saw it, and we know it; yet forgive A moment's error in the heat of conquestThe conquest which you led to. Arn. Get you hence! Hence to your quarters! you will find them fix'd In the Colonna palace. Olimp. (aside). House! In my father's Arn. (to the Soldiers). Leave your arms; ye have no further need Of such the city 's render'd. And mark well I should be so, Had I a knife even; but it matters notDeath hath a thousand gates; and on the marble, Even at the altar foot, whence I look down Olimp. No! Thou hast only sack'd my native [She raises her eyes to heaven, folds her robe round her, and prepares to dash herself down on the side of the Altar opposite to that where ARNOLD stands. Arn. I swear. Arn. Cas. Then she is dead! Olimp. Spare thine already forfeit soul A perjury for which even hell would loathe thee. I know thee. Arn. No, thou know'st me not; I am not Of these men, though-Olimp. Bah bah! You are so, I judge thee by thy mates; Convey her unto the Colonna palace, It is for God to judge thee as thou art. But not less pure (pure as it left me then, [OLIMPIA waves her hand to ARNOLD with dis- We will Come then! raise her up! But, if you rue it after, blame not me. The spirit of her life Of old the angels of her earliest sex. Cæs. I! But fear not. I'll not be your Cæs. rival. I could be one right formidable; But since I slew the seven husbands of Tobias' future bride (and after all Was smoked out by some incense), I have laid Aside intrigue 't is rarely worth the trouble Of gaining, or-what is more difficultGetting rid of your prize again; for there's The rub! at least to mortals. Arn. Prithee, peace! Softly methinks her lips move, her eyes open! Cas. Like stars, no doubt; for that's a metaphor For Lucifer and Venus. PART ΠΙ. SCENE I-A Castle in the Apennines, surrounded by a wild but smiling Country. Chorus of Peasants singing before the Gates. Chorus. I. The wars are over, The spring is come; Have sought their home: They are happy, we rejoice; Let their hearts have an echo in every voice! II. The spring is come; the violet's gone, The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower, III. And when the spring comes with her host Of flowers, that flower beloved the most Shrinks from the crowd that may confuse Her heavenly odour and virgin hues. IV. Pluck the others, but still remember The pledge of daylight's lengthen'd hours, Enter CESAR. Cas. (singing). The wars are all over, Our swords are all idle, The casque 's on the wall. But his armour is rusty, And the veteran grows crusty, As he yawns in the hall. He drinks-but what 's drinking? A mere pause from thinking! No bugle awakes him with life-and-death call. Chorus. But the hound bayeth loudly, To spring from her hood: Cæs. Oh! shadow of glory! Dim image of war! And quake for their race. In the pride of his might, For a spear, 'gainst the mammoth, At the foaming behemoth; As towers in our time, Chorus. But the wars are over, The spring is come; Have sought their home; They are happy, and we rejoice; Let their hearts have an echo from every voice! [Exeunt the Peasantry, singing. BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY. Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: Look you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think that you have swam in a Gondola.-As You Like It, Act IV., Scene i. Annotation of the Commentators. That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris is now-the seat of all dissoluteness.-S. A. XI. They 've pretty faces yet, those same Venetians, (The best 's at Florence-see it, if ye will), They look when leaning over the balcony, Or stepp'd from out a picture by Giorgione, XII. Whose tints are truth and beauty at their best; Is loveliest to my mind of all the show; And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so: 'Tis but a portrait of his son, and wife, And self; but such a woman! love in life! XIII. Love in full life and length, not love ideal, That the sweet model must have been the same; XIV. One of those forms which flit by us, when we I said that like a picture by Giorgione (For beauty 's sometimes best set off afar), XVI. For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, Which flies on wings of light-heel'd Mercuries, Who do such things because they know no better; And then, God knows what mischief may arise, When love links two young people in one fetter, Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and heads. XVII. Shakspeare described the sex in Desdemona Such matters may be probably the same, XVIII. Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous) Which smothers women in a bed of feather, ΧΙΧ. Didst ever sce a Gondola? For fear You should not, I'll describe it you exactly: 'T is a long cover'd boat that 's common here, Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, Row'd by two rowers, each call'd "Gondolier," It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, Where none can make out what you say or do. XX. And up and down the long canals they go, By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, But not to them do woeful things belong, ΧΧΙ. But to my story.-"T was some years ago, It may be thirty, forty, more or less, The Carnival was at its height, and so Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress; A certain lady went to see the show, Her real name I know not, nor can guess, And so we'll call her Laura, if you please, Because it slips into my verse with ease. XXII. She was not old, nor young, nor at the years To name, define by speech, or write on page, The period meant precisely by that word,Which surely is exceedingly absurd. XXIII. Laura was blooming still, had made the best She look'd extremely well where'er she went; A pretty woman is a welcome guest, And Laura's brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed, she shone all smiles, and seem'd to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her. XXIV. She was a married woman; 'tis convenient, (Unless within the period intervenient A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool), I don't know how they ever can get over it, Except they manage never to discover it. |