LAWRENCE Not in a cot, begarlanded of spiders, Not where the brook traditionally "purls,"No, in the Row, supreme among the riders, Seek I the gem,-the paragon of girls. FRANK Not in the waste of column and of coping, LAWRENCE Dark-haired is mine, with splendid tresses plaited FRANK Dark-haired is mine, with breezy ripples swinging Loose as a vine-branch blowing in the morn; Eyes like the morning, mouth forever singing, Blithe as a bird new risen from the corn. LAWRENCE Best is the song with the music interwoven: FRANK Best? You should hear mine thrilling out a ballad, Not too divine to toss you up a salad, Great in Sir Roger danced among the trees. LAWRENCE Ah, when the thick night flares with dropping torches, FRANK Better the twilight and the cheery chatting,- Where one may lie, and watch the fingers tatting, LAWRENCE All worship mine. Her purity doth hedge her FRANK None worship mine. But some, I fancy, love her.Cynics to boot. I know the children run, Seeing her come, for naught that I discover, Save that she brings the summer and the sun. LAWRENCE Mine is a Lady, beautiful and queenly, FRANK Mine is a Woman, kindly beyond measure, Jack's sister Florence,—now you know her name. LAWRENCE "Jack's sister Florence!" Never, Francis, never. Jack, do you hear? Why, it was she I meant. She like the country! Ah, she's far too clever FRANK There you are wrong. I know her down in Kent. LAWRENCE You'll get a sunstroke, standing with your head bare. FRANK How is it, Umpire? Though the motto's threadbare, "Cælum, non animum" 1—is, I take it, true. 1"-mutant qui trans mare currunt" (Horace): They who spee across the sea do indeed change the sky above their heads, but no their souls. JACK "Souvent femme varie," as a rule, is truer; Flattered, I'm sure, but both of you romance. Yes. But the Pipe LAWRENCE FRANK The Pipe is what we care for,— JACK Well, in this case, I scarcely need explain, Judgment of mine were indiscreet, and therefore,Peace to you both. The Pipe I shall retain. Austin Dobson 222 FIESOLAN IDYLL TERE, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound HERE Into hot Summer's lusty arms, expires, And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night, Soft airs that want the lute to play with 'em, And softer sighs that know not what they want, Aside a wall, beneath an orange-tree, Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones 1 Woman often changes. While I was gazing a few paces off At what they seemed to show me with their nods, I heard the branches rustle, and stepped forth Such I believed it must be. Let beast o'erpower them? How could I When hath wind or rain Borne hard upon weak plant that wanted me, And I (however they might bluster round) Walked off? 'Twere most ungrateful: for sweet scents That would let drop without them her best stores. |