16
PIPPA PASSES.
To show I love you—yes, still love you—love you
In spite of Luca and what ’s come to him
—Sure sign we had him ever in our thoughts,
White sneering old reproachful face and all!
We ’ll even quarrel, love, at times, as if
We still could lose each other, were not tied
By this: conceive you?
By this: conceive you?Ottima. Love!
By this: conceive you? Love!Sebald. Not tied so sure.
Because though I was wrought upon, have struck
His insolence back into him—am I
So surely yours?—therefore forever yours?
Ottima. Love, to be wise, (one counsel pays another)
Should we have—months ago, when first we loved,
For instance that May morning we two stole
Under the green ascent of sycamores—
If we had come upon a thing like that
Suddenly…
Sebald. “A thing”—there again—“a thing!”
Ottima. Then, Venus’ body, had we come upon
My husband Luca Gaddi’s murdered corpse
Within there, at his couch-foot, covered close—
Would you have pored upon it? Why persist
In poring now upon it? For ’t is here
As much as there in the deserted house:
You cannot rid your eyes of it. For me,
Now he is dead I hate him worse: I hate…
Dare you stay here? I would go back and hold
His two dead hands, and say, “I hate you worse,
Luca, than…”
Luca, than…”Sebald. Off, off—take your hands off mine.
’T is the hot evening—off! oh, morning is it?
In spite of Luca and what ’s come to him
—Sure sign we had him ever in our thoughts,
White sneering old reproachful face and all!
We ’ll even quarrel, love, at times, as if
We still could lose each other, were not tied
By this: conceive you?
By this: conceive you?Ottima. Love!
By this: conceive you? Love!Sebald. Not tied so sure.
Because though I was wrought upon, have struck
His insolence back into him—am I
So surely yours?—therefore forever yours?
Ottima. Love, to be wise, (one counsel pays another)
Should we have—months ago, when first we loved,
For instance that May morning we two stole
Under the green ascent of sycamores—
If we had come upon a thing like that
Suddenly…
Sebald. “A thing”—there again—“a thing!”
Ottima. Then, Venus’ body, had we come upon
My husband Luca Gaddi’s murdered corpse
Within there, at his couch-foot, covered close—
Would you have pored upon it? Why persist
In poring now upon it? For ’t is here
As much as there in the deserted house:
You cannot rid your eyes of it. For me,
Now he is dead I hate him worse: I hate…
Dare you stay here? I would go back and hold
His two dead hands, and say, “I hate you worse,
Luca, than…”
Luca, than…”Sebald. Off, off—take your hands off mine.
’T is the hot evening—off! oh, morning is it?
