RIENZI'S ORIGIN.
There's the sting,—
That I, an insect of to-day, outsoar
The reverend worm, nobility! Wouldst shame me
With my poor parentage!—Sir, I'm the son
Of him who kept a sordid hostelry
In the Jews' quarter—my good mother cleansed
Linen for honest hire.—Canst thou say worse?
Ang. Can worse be said?
Rie. Add, that my boasted schoolcraft
Was gained from such base toil, gained with such pain,
That the nice nurture of the mind was oft
Stolen at the body's cost. I have gone dinnerless
And supperless, the scoff of our poor street,
For tattered vestments and lean, hungry looks,
To pay the pedagogue.—Add what thou wilt
Of injury. Say that, grown into man,
I've known the pittance of the hospital,
And, more degrading still, the patronage
Of the Colonna. Of the tallest trees
The roots delve deepest. Yes, I've trod thy halls,
Scorned and derided midst their ribald crew,
A licensed jester, save the cap and bells,
I have borne this—and I have borne the death,
The unavenged death, of a dear brother.
I seemed, I was, a base, ignoble slave.
What am I?—Peace, I say!—What am I now?
Head of this great republic, chief of Rome—
In all but name, her sovereign—last of all,
Thy father.