That Cousin here again? he waits outside? 220
Must see you—­you, and not with me?  Those loans? 
More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that? 
Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? 
While hand and eye and something of a heart
Are left me, work’s my ware, and what’s it worth? 
I’ll pay my fancy.  Only let me sit
The gray remainder of the evening out,
Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly
How I could paint, were I but back in France,
One picture, just one more—­the Virgin’s face, 230
Not yours this time!  I want you at my side
To hear them—­that is, Michel Agnolo—­
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. 
Will you?  To-morrow, satisfy your friend. 
I take the subjects for his corridor,
Finish the portrait out of hand—­there, there,
And throw him in another thing or two
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough
To pay for this same Cousin’s freak.  Beside,
What’s better and what’s all I care about, 240
Get you the thirteen scudi deg. for the ruff! deg.241
Love, does that please you?  Ah, but what does he,
The Cousin! what does he to please you more?

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. 
I regret little, I would change still less. 
Since there my past life lies, why alter it? 
The very wrong to Francis!—­it is true
I took his coin, was tempted and complied,
And built this house and sinned, and all is said
My father and my mother died of want. 250
Well, had I riches of my own? you see
How one gets rich!  Let each one bear his lot. 
They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died: 
And I have laboured somewhat in my time
And not been paid profusely.  Some good son
Paint my two hundred pictures—­let him try! 
No doubt, there’s something strikes a balance.  Yes,
You love me quite enough, it seems to-night. 
This must suffice me here.  What would one have? 
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—­
Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, 260
Meted on each side by the angel’s reed,
For Leonard, deg.  Rafael, Agnolo, and me deg.262
To cover—­the three first without a wife,
While I have mine!  So—­still they overcome
Because there’s still Lucrezia,—­as I choose.

  Again the Cousin’s whistle!  Go, my Love.

* * * * *

CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS;

OR,

NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND

“Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself.”