Marco. A shrew, I'll warrant thee; I'll none of her. Canst tell thy fancied fair to break her heart

And rave that I her life have basely wrecked.
Franc. Wrecked, Marco?

hearts.

Nay, thou knowest not our

What if we venture all our happiness

Within the frail bark Love, and storms arise
And toss the skiff on barren shore-what then?
Though love be stranded 'tis not lost. We'd glean
The wreck-strewn beach, shaping a raft from out
The fragments of our parted bark; anon,
Launch bravely forth upon the world's rough sea;
Our pilots, virtues sprung from stony griefs,
Watered perchance with salutary tears ;
For woman must be master of her love,
Or it will master her. But, Marco, hark!
This maid will hate thee not, tho' like white wax
Near fire, thine image melts before her pride.
Marco. Was this a maid drawn by thy fantasy?
Franc. I saw her thus reflected once.

Marco. Where? How?

Franc. Where! how ! in thy two eyes, my friend. And

she

Was but the mirrored image of myself.

Marco. Cesca!

Beat.

[Runs off, laughing. [Goes up stage.

Nay, stay, she brings our Dante back.

Marco. What meant she? Not herself; and yet her

words

Beat. Her's is an oracle best backward read.

Marco. She is a madcap, witch as well as sybil. Beat. A loving friend with honest, purest soul, Whose wit tho' keen scarce wounds.

true

Are prayers less

When dropt from smiling lips? Her joyous heart
In God's light basking, sunshine sheds on those
Who lie forgotten in the shade by men.

Marco. Thy golden nature glints in singing hers.
May I in my strong manhood prove such friend?
Beat. Be such to Dante-for he loves thee, Marco.
His sad soul needs strong staff to lean upon,
So be thou all to him when future trials

Stamp out the few fresh joys and hopes of youth,

And life grows stale and dim with dust of days.
Marco. Doth thy heart hold both kindly thoughts and

mocks,

To sigh o'er Dante yet to twit his love?

[DANTE approaches unseen by BEATRICE.

Beat. If girlish vanity or love of taunts

Beguile my spirit to unseemly jest,
Anon I weep for it, tho' still unmoved
My outward bearing may remain to him.
Dante (aside). O! Beatrice!
Marco.

Pure as morning star

Thou art, and fit to shine o'er Dante's path.

(Aside) I see him nearing her as moth the light,

Circling e'er nigher to its hope and doom.

(Aloud) Where lingers Cesca-hast thou seen her, Dante ?

Beat. Giovanna, come, we'll seek her.

Dante.

Lady, stay

Marco. A shrew, I'll warrant thee; I'll none of her. Canst tell thy fancied fair to break her heart

And rave that I her life have basely wrecked.
Franc. Wrecked, Marco?

hearts.

Nay, thou knowest not our

What if we venture all our happiness

Within the frail bark Love, and storms arise
And toss the skiff on barren shore-what then?
Though love be stranded 'tis not lost. We'd glean
The wreck-strewn beach, shaping a raft from out
The fragments of our parted bark; anon,
Launch bravely forth upon the world's rough sea;
Our pilots, virtues sprung from stony griefs,
Watered perchance with salutary tears;
For woman must be master of her love,
Or it will master her. But, Marco, hark!
This maid will hate thee not, tho' like white wax
Near fire, thine image melts before her pride.

Marco. Was this a maid drawn by thy fantasy?
Franc. I saw her thus reflected once.

Marco. Where? How?

Franc. Where! how! in thy two eyes, my friend. And

she

Was but the mirrored image of myself.

Marco. Cesca!

Beat.

[Runs off, laughing. [Goes up stage.

Nay, stay, she brings our Dante back.

Marco. What meant she? Not herself; and yet her

words

Beat. Her's is an oracle best backward read.

Marco. She is a madcap, witch as well as sybil. Beat. A loving friend with honest, purest soul, Whose wit tho' keen scarce wounds.

true

Are prayers less

When dropt from smiling lips? Her joyous heart
In God's light basking, sunshine sheds on those
Who lie forgotten in the shade by men.

Marco. Thy golden nature glints in singing hers.
May I in my strong manhood prove such friend?
Beat. Be such to Dante-for he loves thee, Marco.
His sad soul needs strong staff to lean upon,
So be thou all to him when future trials

Stamp out the few fresh joys and hopes of youth,

And life grows stale and dim with dust of days.

Marco. Doth thy heart hold both kindly thoughts and mocks,

To sigh o'er Dante yet to twit his love?

[DANTE approaches unseen by BEATRICE.

Beat. If girlish vanity or love of taunts

Beguile my spirit to unseemly jest,

Anon I weep for it, tho' still unmoved
My outward bearing may remain to him.
Dante (aside). O! Beatrice!
Marco.

Pure as morning star

Thou art, and fit to shine o'er Dante's path.

(Aside) I see him nearing her as moth the light,

Circling e'er nigher to its hope and doom.

(Aloud) Where lingers Cesca-hast thou seen her, Dante?

Beat. Giovanna, come, we'll seek her.

Dante.

Lady, stay

And blend thy beauty with the flowers' breath.
Marco. Then we'll seek Cesca. Vera, come away.
Rude winter heralding sweet spring's heyday.

Beat. I listen, but our poet's tones are mute.

*

[Exeunt.

Dante. When in thy presence, honoured one, I stand, *My spirits faint till naught but sight is left,

* While e'en my daring orbs grow dazed and dim
* Beneath thy beauty. Speech deserteth me,
* My troubled heart wild beating stifles breath.
My mind, too moved to think, for Tyrant Love,
Whose liegeman true am I, claims every sense.
O! thou who art my sight and pulse and thought,
Be courteous with thy power, most gentle Bice,
And sport not with the sorrows of my soul;
Unless it pleases thee to see me wan

"For whom has Love so wasted thee, O Dante? And I could say,

66

For one who mockingly Commands me to be gay, while her cold heart Slays me outright with her own loveliness." Beat. Forgive youth's wantonness.

Dante.

Forgive me, sweet,

That to such soul as thine I could impute
A fault; no flaw could keenest eye spy out
In thy pure heart; when women see thee pass

* Vide "Vita Nuova."