University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Andrea.
What have ye done to little Sicily?
She ran so swiftly by me, and pusht back
My hand so smartly when I would have stopt her,
I think you must have vext her plaguily
Among you.

Maria.
She was vext, but not by us.

Andrea.
Yes, many girls are vext to-day. One bride
Sheds fifty thorns from each white rose she wears.
I did not think of that. (To Maria.)
You did, no doubt?

Maria.
I wear white roses too, as well as she:
Our queen's can have no thorns for us.

Andrea.
Not one?

Maria.
No, nor for any in this happy realm.

Andrea.
Ah now! this happy realm! Some people think
That I could make it happier.

Giovanna.
I rejoice
To hear it.

Andrea.
Are you glad, my little bride?

Giovanna.
Most glad. O never disappoint their hopes!
The people are so kind! they love us so!

Andrea.
They are a merry race: ay, very crickets,
Chirruping, leaping. What they eat, God knows;
Sunshine and cinders, may be: he has sent
Plenty of these, and they are satisfied.

Giovanna.
Should we be, if they are?

Andrea.
O then! a boon!
To make them happy all their lives.

Giovanna.
The boon
To make them happier Heaven alone can grant.
Hearken! If some oppressions were removed,
Beyond my strength to manage, it were done.

Andrea.
Nothing so easy. Not your strength indeed,
But mine, could push a buffalo away.
I have a little favour to request.

Giovanna.
Speak.

Andrea.
Give me then this kingdom, only this.
I do not covet mountains to the north,
Nor cities over cities farther west,
Casal or Monferrato or Saluzzo,
Asti or Coni, Ceva or Torino,
Where that great river runs which spouts from heaven,
Nor Aix nor Toulon, nor Marseille nor Nice
Nor Avignon, where our good pope sits percht;
I only want this tidy little kingdom,
To make it happy with this sword upon it.

Giovanna.
The people and their laws alone can give it.

Andrea.
Well, we can make the laws.

Giovanna.
And people too?

Andrea.
Giovanna! I do think that smile could make
A thousand peoples from the dullest clay,
And mould them to thy will.

Giovanna.
Pure poetry!

Andrea.
Don't say it! or they knock me on the head!
I ought to be contented: but they would
Insist upon it. I have askt: here ends
My duty: I don't want it for myself . .
And yet those cities lookt like strings of bird-eggs,
And tempted me above my strength. I only
Repent of learning all their names for nothing.
Let them hang where they are.

Giovanna.
Well said.

Andrea.
Who wants 'em?
I like these pictures better. What a store!
Songs, proverbs, and a word as hard as flint,
Enough for fifty friars to ruminate
Amid their cheese and cobnuts after dinner,
Read it me.

Giovanna.
Which?

[Andrea points.
Giovanna.
‘Ecclesiastes.’

Andrea.
Right!
As you pronounce it, scarce a word of ours
In Hungary is softer. What a tongue!
Round, juicy, sweet, and soluble, as cherries.
When Frate Rupert utter'd the same word,
It sounded just as if his beard and breast,
And all which there inhabit, had turn'd round
Into his throat, to rasp and riddle it.
I never shall forget Ecclesiastes!
Only two words I know are pleasanter.

Giovanna.
And which are they?

Andrea
(saluting her).
Giovanna and Carina.

Maria.
Unmanner'd prince!

Andrea.
Now the white rose sheds thorns.