Scenes and Portraits

by Frederic Manning

Poscia, più che il dolor, potè il digiuno.

Quand' ebbe detto ciò, con gli occhi torti

Riprese il teschio misero coi denti,

Che furo all' osso, come d'un can, forti.'

It is an exultation of hatred, a luxury in disgust, a joy in brutal vengeance which cannot be paralleled. Turn from it to these lines out of the Paradiso:

"'O dolce Amor, che di riso t' ammanti,

Quanto parevi ardente in quei flailli,

Ch' aveano spirto sol di pensier santi.'

and you have some notion of his wide range from tumult into calm. Will you not drink a little wine?"

"This wine is excellent," said Cromwell. "As a rule I find the Italian wine a little harsh; but this is suave and of a delicate flavour. You are a great lover of poetry, Messer. I see that your volumes of Tibullus and Ovid are much worn."