’Tis blessed grain
That hath no chaff.
To love an ape
Is but to ape at love.
I sought a hand,
And found—a glove!
“Beppo, laugh, and prove thyself the fool’s! I fain would feel the yoke, lest I step too high.
“Come, we’ll seek the shelt’ring tree. I’ve in my kit a bit of curd. Thy conscience need not prick. I swear that Tonio, the rogue, did see me stow it there!
“Ah, me, ’tis such a home for fools, the earth. And they that are not fools are apes.
“I see the crowd bestringing ’long the road, and yonder clarion doth bid the riders come. Well, Beppo, do we ride? Come, chere, we may tramp our crooked path and ride astraddle of a cloud.