Methinks I set my back against the gate
Thrown open to me by this rosy hand,

And look both ways, but see more heaven than earth :
Give me thy dream: thou puttest it aside:

I must be feasted: fetch it forth at once.

Marg. Husband! I dreamt the child was in my arms, And held a sword, which from its little grasp

I could not move, nor you: I dreamt that proud
But tottering shapes in purple filigree

Pull'd at it, and he laught.

John.

They frighten'd thee?

110

Marg. Frighten'd me! no: the infant's strength pre

vail'd.

Devils, with angels' faces, throng'd about;

Some offer'd flowers, and some held cups behind,
And some held daggers under silken stoles.

John. These frighten'd thee, however.
Marg.

I knew he did.

John.

He knew all;

A dream! a dream indeed!

He knew and laught!

Marg.

He sought his mother's breast,

And lookt at them no longer.

120

All the room

130

He shall be

Was fill'd with light and gladness.

John.

Richer than we are; he shall mount his horse

A feat above his father; and be one

Of the duke's spearmen.

Marg.

God forbid they lead

Unrighteous lives, and often fall untimely.

John. A lion-hearted lad shall Martin be.

Marg. God willing; if his servant; but not else.

I have such hopes, full hopes, hopes overflowing.

John. A grave grand man, half collar and half cross, 140

With chain enough to hold our mastiff by,

Thou fain wouldst have him. Out of dirt so stiff

Old Satan fashioneth his idol, Pride.

Marg. If proud and cruel to the weak, and bent

To turn all blessings from their even course
To his own kind and company, may he
Never be great, with collar, cross, and chain;
No, nor be ever angel, if, O God!
He be a fallen angel at the last.

Uncle, you know, is sacristan; and uncle
Had once an uncle who was parish priest.

[After a pause.

John. He was the man who sung so merrily
Those verses which few scholars understand,
Yet which they can not hide away, nor drive
The man from memory after forty years.

150

Marg. (sings). "Our brightest pleasures are reflected pleasures.

And they shine sweetest from the cottage-wall."

John. The very same.

Marg.

We understand them, John!

your uncle sacristan

160

It was a sword,

John. An inkling. But
Hath neither sword nor spur.
Marg.

A flaming sword, but innocent, I saw;
And I have seen in pictures such as that,
And in the hands of angels borne on clouds.
He may defend our faith, drive out the Turk,
And quench the crescent in the Danaw stream.
John. Thou, who begannest softly, singest now
Shrill as a throstle.

Marg.

Have we then no cause

To sing as throstles after sign thus strange?

John. Because it was so strange, must we believe
The rather?

Marg. Yes; no fire was in the house,
No splinter, not a spark. The Virgin's chin
Shone not with rushlight under it; 'twas out.
For night was almost over, if not past,
And the Count's chapel has not half that blaze
On the Count's birthday, nor the hall at night.
Ah surely, surely fare like ours sends up
No idle fumes; nor wish nor hope of mine
Fashion'd so bright a substance to a form

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180

So beautiful. There must be truth in it.

John. There shall be then.

Your uncle's sacristy

Shall hold the armour quite invisible,
Until our little Martin some fine day
Bursts the door open, spurr'd, caparison'd,
Dukes lead his bridle, princes tramp behind.
He may be pope. . who knows?

Marg.
Are you
in earnest ?
But if he should be pope, will he love us?
Or let us (O yes, sure he would!) love him?
Nor slink away, ashamed? Pope, no; not pope,
But bishop (ay?) he may be? There are few
Powerfuller folks than uncle Grimmermann.
Promise he scarce would give us, but a wink
Of hope he gave, to make a chorister.

John. "If thou wilt find materials," were his words.

190

Marg. I did not mark the words; they were too light: 200 And yet he never breaks his troth.

John.
Not he:
No, he would rather break his fast ten times.
Do not look seriously when church allows,
I mean; no more; six days a week; not seven.
I have seen houses where the Friday cheese
Was not (in my mind) cut with Thursday knife.

Marg. O now for shame! such houses can not stand.

Pr'ythee talk reason.

As the furnace-mouth

Shows only fire, so yours shows laughter only.

Choristers have been friars; ours may be ;

And then a father abbot.

John. Ring the bells! Martin is pope, by Jove!

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ANDREA OF HUNGARY, GIOVANNA OF NAPLES, AND FRA RUPERT: A TRILOGY.

ANDREA OF HUNGARY.

CHARACTERS.

ANDREA. FRA RUPERT. CARACCIOLI. CARAFFA. BOCCACCIO. MAXIMIN, a Soldier. KLAPWRATH, ZINGA, PSEIN, Hungarian Officers. PAGE, GARISENDO, a Peasant. GIOVANNA, Queen. SANCIA, Queen Dowager. MARIA, Sister of Giovanna. MARIA OF SICILY, Half-sister. FIAMMETTA. FILIPPA, Foster-mother. PETRONILLA, a Peasant.

PROLOGUE.

My verse was for thine eyes alone,
Alone by them was it repaid;

And still thine ear records the tone
Of thy grey minstrel, thoughtful maid!

Amid the pomps of regal state,

Where thou, O Rose! art call'd to move,
Thee only Virtue can elate,

She only guide thy steps to Love.

Sometimes, when dark is each saloon,
Dark every lamp that crown'd the Seine,
Memory hangs low Amalfi's moon

And lights thee o'er Salerno's plain.

And onward, where Giovanna bore
Keen anguish from envenom'd tongues:

Her fame my pages shall restore,

Thy pity shall requite her wrongs.

ACT I. SCENE I.

PALACE AT NAPLES.

ANDREA and GIOVANNA.

Andrea. What say you now, Giovanna! shall we go And conquer France? Heigho? I am sadly idle;

My mighty mind wants full activity.

Giovanna. Andrea! be contented; stay at home; Conquer? you've conquer'd me.

Andrea. Ah rebel queen!

I doubt it: we have had war first, however,

And parleys, and all that.

Giovanna. You might have more

Before you conquer the strong cities there.

Andrea. England, they tell me, hath as much of France

As France hath. Some imagine that Provenza

Is half-and-half French land. How this may be

I can not tell; I am no theologian.

Giovanna in your ear. I have a mind

To ride to Paris, and salute the king,

And pull him by the beard, and make him fight.

10

Giovanna. Know that French beards have stiffer hairs

than German,*

And crackle into flame at the first touch.

Andrea. 'Sblood! like black cats! dark?

But only in the

[20

Giovanna. By night or day, in city or in field.
Andrea. I never knew it: let the Devil lug them

For me then! they are fitter for his fist.
Sure, of all idle days the marriage-day

Is idlest even the common people run

About the streets, not knowing what to do,
As if they came from wedding too, poor souls!
This fancy set me upon conquering France.

Giovanna. And one hour only after we are united?

* Hungary and Germany were hostile.