'I think of improvising by book,' said Jacopo, short and gruff.
Galeazzo said 'Ha!' again, like a snarl, and his brow contracted.
'Why, thou unconscionable old surly dog!' he said—'why?'
Jacopo pointed to the tablets.
'Your saint asks no notes to his piping. A' sings like the birds.'
'Now,' answered his master, in a deep, offended tone, 'I'm in a mind to make thee sing on a grill,—ay, and dance too. What, dolt! are not first thoughts first thoughts, however they may be pricked down? Look at this, I say; flatten thy bull nose on it. Is it not clean, untouched, unrevised? Spotless as when issued from Helicon? Beast! thou shalt call me, too, an improvisatore.'
The statue was silent. Galeazzo sat glaring and gnawing his fingers.
'Answer!' he screeched suddenly.
'I will call thee one,' said Jacopo obstinately, 'but not the best.'
The Duke fell back in his chair, then presently was muttering and strumming with his disengaged fingers on the table.