but thanked
Somehow—­I know not how—­as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody’s gift.  Who’d stoop to blame
This sort of trifling?  Even had you skill
In speech (which I have not) to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark”—­and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
E’en that would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop.  Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile?  This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together.  There she stands
As if alive.  Will’t please you rise?  We’ll meet
The company below, then.  I repeat,
The Count your master’s known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence 50
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object.  Nay, we’ll go
Together down, sir.  Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Notes:  “My Last Duchess” puts in the mouth of a Duke of Ferrara, a typical husband and art patron of the Renaissance, a description of his last wife, whose happy nature and universal kindliness were a perpetual affront to his exacting self-predominance, and whose suppression, by his command, has made the vacancy he is now, in his interview with the envoy for a new match, taking precaution to fill more acceptably.

3.  Fra Pandolf, and 56.  Claus of Innsbruck, are imaginary.

COUNT GISMOND

Aix lN Provence

I

Christ God who savest man, save most
        Of men Count Gismond who saved me! 
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,
        Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honour, ’twas with all his strength.

II

And doubtlessly ere he could draw
        All points to one, he must have schemed! 
That miserable morning saw
        Few half so happy as I seemed, 10
While being dressed in queen’s array
To give our tourney prize away.

III

I thought they loved me, did me grace
        To please themselves; ’twas all their deed;
God makes, or fair or foul, our face;
        If showing mine so caused to bleed
My cousins’ hearts, they should have dropped
A word, and straight the play had stopped.

IV

They, too, so beauteous!  Each a queen
        By virtue of her brow and breast; 20
Not needing to be crowned, I mean,
        As I do.  E’en when I was dressed,
Had either of them spoke, instead
Of glancing sideways with still head!