FRA SEBASTIANO. 
                          But lately
Strolling together down the crowded Corso,
We stopped, well pleased, to see your Eminence
Pass on an Arab steed, a noble creature,
Which Michael Angelo, who is a lover
Of all things beautiful, especially
When they are Arab horses, much admired,
And could not praise enough.

IPPOLITO, to an attendant. 
                     Hassan, to-morrow,
When I am gone, but not till I am gone,—­
Be careful about that,—­take Barbarossa
To Messer Michael Angelo, the sculptor,
Who lives there at Macello dei Corvi,
Near to the Capitol; and take besides
Some ten mule-loads of provender, and say
Your master sends them to him as a present.

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
A princely gift.  Though Michael Angelo
Refuses presents from his Holiness,
Yours he will not refuse.

IPPOLITO. 
                     You think him like
Thymoetes, who received the wooden horse
Into the walls of Troy.  That book of Virgil
Have I translated in Italian verse,
And shall, some day, when we have leisure for it,
Be pleased to read you.  When I speak of Troy
I am reminded of another town
And of a lovelier Helen, our dear Countess
Julia Gonzaga.  You remember, surely,
The adventure with the corsair Barbarossa,
And all that followed?

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
             A most strange adventure;
A tale as marvellous and full of wonder
As any in Boccaccio or Sacchetti;
Almost incredible!

IPPOLITO. 
                   Were I a painter
I should not want a better theme than that: 
The lovely lady fleeing through the night
In wild disorder; and the brigands’ camp
With the red fire-light on their swarthy faces. 
Could you not paint it for me?

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
                             No, not I.
It is not in my line.

IPPOLITO. 
                     Then you shall paint
The portrait of the corsair, when we bring him
A prisoner chained to Naples:  for I feel
Something like admiration for a man
Who dared this strange adventure.

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
                         I will do it. 
But catch the corsair first.

IPPOLITO. 
                          You may begin
To-morrow with the sword.  Hassan, come hither;
Bring me the Turkish scimitar that hangs
Beneath the picture yonder.  Now unsheathe it. 
’T is a Damascus blade; you see the inscription
In Arabic:  La Allah illa Allah,—­
There is no God but God.

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
                         How beautiful
In fashion and in finish!  It is perfect. 
The Arsenal of Venice can not boast
A finer sword.

IPPOLITO. 
              You like it?  It is yours.

FRA SEBASTIANO. 
You do not mean it.