ACT I.

SCENE I.-Room in DAL COLLE's house.

Enter VINCENZO DAL COLLE and CORSO DONATI.

Dal Col. Here can we coin our speeches undisturbed, Weighing our words, so if there be false weight

Among them we can sift it out, till naught

But metal unalloyed be left to cast
Into our general treasury of thought.
Vieri, truly as thou saidst, wins way

Through ducats his commercial skill has gained.
Corso. And as a flagon of poor flavoured wine
Is highly called its tastelessness to hide,
So Cerchi's poverty of head and heart
He seeks to cover with fine soldier names.

But still the mud he's born in sticks to him.
And let him call it battle-stain-what then?

We all know mud from blood, unless we squint

With both our eyes because one varlet cries,

(Showing his dirk) "This through thy scornful heart, shouldst thou look straight!"

Dal Col. Yet Dante values Cerchi, calls him just.

Corso. Ay, Dante, who, forgetting noble birth,
Renounces rights he's heir to: entering name
In register with leech and 'pothecary,
So he may claim the privilege of guild;
Mixing with herd he builds his hopes upon.
'Tis no strange sight to see him fondle, then,
One of that herd who higher holds his head
Than rest, by dint of treading on the toes
Of weaker men. Ay, Dante values him,
And yet another sayer of small nothings,
Cavalcanti, that weakling aping strength.

Dal Col. His poems do not lack in prettiness.

Corso. And lack not bareness too, I'll take my oath. Such careless poet's rhymes, like beggar's garb,

Are picturesque for being out at elbows.

Dal Colle, these Bianchi one and all

Must writhe beneath our heels like trodden snakes.
Dal Col. But Dante still is ours.
Corso.
Pray, for how long?
These embassies distract him from our cause.
Perugia, Venice, Sienna claim his thoughts,
And thus have alienated him from home.
His growing power in Florence but begets
The love of more: he lays aside his rank

To gain the people's will-and then? Why, then
He'll rule as despot o'er a cringing crowd.

Dal Col. 'Tis true that these past years have shown

us much

The poet to a politician turned,

The noble to plebeian; while the lover,

Weeping his eyes out o'er his mistress' bier,
Is safely housed with buxom wife and babes.
Corso. Who helped him to domestic ties, but I—
Did I not give him my own flesh and blood,
Hoping to thus cement his favour to us?

And how requites he me for all my pains?
Leans towards our enemies, grows moodier.

Mark,

There's mischief in his veins; some day 'twill out.
Some madness bites him to the very bone;

Beware of even scratch of his, lest fast

The poison in his blood bring festering ills

Unto our body, and our party die.

Dal Col. His moodiness is naught but poet's madness,

No more. Against his will he wedded, urged

By friends who feared he'd waste to shade beneath

The weighty woe of Beatrice's loss;

And though all honour's due to thy fair sister,

Where'er he be, abroad or by his hearth,

A shadow rests upon his saddened brow,

As if his lost love still precedence claimed.

Corso. Thou givest to the man more than his due. Watch well his actions, note the restless spirit Impelling him unto his fateful doom.

He seeks to enlarge the party, dreams of schemes

Which waking thoughts belie-so phantom plans
Flit through the cobwebs of his brains.

Guido and he will play thee false.

Dal Col.

Beware!

Until

We prove them so, we must still call them friends.
They come this morn to join our council here.

Corso. Unto thy keeping they'll ne'er give their thoughts, Should I be there. Let me but stand without, And, unobserved, make comment on their speech.

Dal Col. Nay, nay, that savours too much of the spy. Corso. We stand in times of doubt; we need mistrust Our nearest kith and kin; give me my way.

Dal Col. Yet for the issue of it I have fears.
Corso. Be they forgotten.through my wiser faith.

Franc. Father.

Enter FRANCESCA.

Dal Col. What brings thee from thy woman's work?
Franc. So stern a look would frighten smiles away
From bolder brows than mine, but soon my tale
Is told. The twins approach-I mean, the poets;
Damon and Pythias now ascend the stairs.

Dal Col. Say I'm alone, and send them hither.
Franc. Alone ?

Dal Col.

Art thou an echo or my child?
Franc. Or one or other, as it pleases thee.
But do not, Juno-like, drive out the child,
Nor, like Narcissus, turn thee from the echo
With anger or disdain, lest I be left

Nor child nor echo, nothing but a name.

Dal Col. Speed with thy legs, not tongue, girl!
Franc.

Go!

I'm gone.

[Exit.

Corso. Now to my watch, and mark thou well their

words.

Dal Col. I let thee have thy way to prove thou'rt wrong.

Corso. And Time will then be judge betwixt us twain.

[Exit.

Dal Col. Ay, Time, like plough in some old battle-field, Keeps turning up most unexpected sights,

All grim and ghastly, startling placid souls.

Enter DANTE, GUIDO CAVALCANTI, MARCO NERLI, and UBERTO.

Uber. As duteous son, I should be bringing news,

But having none, bring what is better-Dante.

Dante. Thy boy, Dal Colle, has more faith in me Than I have in the saints.

Dal Col.

He needs trust thee.

Still are some as safe

Marco. We need trust many.
To trust with plans as cat with cream; yet men
Will venture hands in hornets' nest till stung.

Dante. 'Tis fatal to the good of Florentines,
Our factions ne'er unite for city's good.
We, like ill-seasoned timber, split and split,
Till there's not left a board amongst us all
Sound through and through, to stop out enemies
From stranger towns. This wretched sin of self
Is stamping out all patriotic aims.

Our leaders damn their cause as well as souls.

Such men as Corso

Dal Col.

What, thy wife's own brother?

Dante. If mine, I'd judge him by his deeds. They're

ill.

His wit's too wide; he has more strings to bow

Than there are tendrils to a sturdy vine.