University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Chapel surrounded by large yew trees, near the monastery of Salvator.
Graves covered with shrubs and flowers.
Enter Schidoni from the porch.
Schid.
Years fifty-three I've traversed this dull globe,
Yet never witness'd such a storm before. [Chimes strike the quarters.
Enter the Fisherman from the porch.

Where are the keys and harp?

Fisherman.

In the porch. (Aside.)
Where should they be? 'Twas well, signor, we got here before the rain began, or the storm had drowned us; as sure as little fishes bolt in the jolt.

Schid.
What said Theresa, when she read my note?

Fisherman.

Not a word, signor. She toddled up stairs, brought down the harp and keys; gave them to me with a shrug;—yes, signor, she shrugged up her shoulders thus; shut the door; and that without saying a word; as if she took me for a thief. Ill-mannered old harridan! I didn't loike it. My old Margery could have behaved better than that.

Schid.
Insolent jade! The covering, and the harp.— [Exit Fisherman.

Now for Romano, down the valley yonder.

Re-enter Fisherman with the harp, &c.
Fisherman.

There, signor; there they are. (Aside.)
I wonder what in the name of St. Dominic, he can want these things for.

Schid.
(aside.)
These keys; this harp:—I shall disguise my form;
Darken this face;—my mother could not know me!
What—pluck the flowers, and put them in thy pouch?
What is that for?—

Fisherman.

Why, signor, you must know, that I have a poor little boy and a nice little girl, lying quietly in our church-yard, side by side; and I was thinking as

how I would take these sprigs home with me, and throw them over their graves. I think they would loike it, poor little things; they would look so pretty. That's all, signor; nothing else; nothing else in the world, signor; nothing else.

Schid.
I'd give some ducats to be like this man,
Though he 's so poor.—The monks at matins: hark!
They chant like angels; and no doubt they are such.
Haste;—hie thee home: take this, and this; no parley.
Give my regards to Margery. Five ducats.

Fisherman.

God bless thee, signor; and may thee never want a cot or a coat, a trout or a pout, a chick, a chidling, or a biddling. Aha—how my old Margery will wince! Aha—how my fish-dried old Margery will wince! She'll throw another old petticoat into the water; I warrant her.

[Exit.
Schid.
I must away. Kind walls, farewell;—farewell!
Never give shelter to a man again,
That hates all bishops, popes, and saints, as I do.

[Exit.