The Complete Poems. Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло

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      A model for her virtue?

       Don C. You forget

      She is a Gypsy girl.

       Lara. And therefore won

      The easier.

       Don C. Nay, not to be won at all!

      The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes

      Is chastity. That is her only virtue.

      Dearer than life she holds it. I remember

      A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd,

      Whose craft was to betray the young and fair;

      And yet this woman was above all bribes.

      And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty,

      The wild and wizard beauty of her race,

      Offered her gold to be what she made others,

      She turned upon him, with a look of scorn,

      And smote him in the face!

       Lara. And does that prove

      That Preciosa is above suspicion?

       Don C. It proves a nobleman may be repulsed

      When he thinks conquest easy. I believe

      That woman, in her deepest degradation,

      Holds something sacred, something undefiled,

      Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature,

      And, like the diamond in the dark, retains

      Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light!

       Lara. Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold.

       Don C. (rising). I do not think so.

       Lara. I am sure of it.

      But why this haste? Stay yet a little longer,

      And fight the battles of your Dulcinea.

       Don C. 'T is late. I must begone, for if I stay

      You will not be persuaded.

       Lara. Yes; persuade me.

       Don C. No one so deaf as he who will not hear!

       Lara. No one so blind as he who will not see!

       Don C. And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams,

      And greater faith in woman. [Exit.

       Lara. Greater faith!

      I have the greatest faith; for I believe

      Victorian is her lover. I believe

      That I shall be to-morrow; and thereafter

      Another, and another, and another,

      Chasing each other through her zodiac,

      As Taurus chases Aries.

      (Enter FRANCISCO with a casket.)

      Well, Francisco,

      What speed with Preciosa?

       Fran. None, my lord.

      She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you

      She is not to be purchased by your gold.

       Lara. Then I will try some other way to win her.

      Pray, dost thou know Victorian?

       Fran. Yes, my lord;

      I saw him at the jeweller's to-day.

       Lara. What was he doing there?

       Fran. I saw him buy

      A golden ring, that had a ruby in it.

       Lara. Was there another like it?

       Fran. One so like it

      I could not choose between them.

       Lara. It is well.

      To-morrow morning bring that ring to me.

      Do not forget. Now light me to my bed.

       [Exeunt.

      SCENE II. — A street in Madrid. Enter CHISPA, followed by

      musicians, with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments.

       Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas! and a plague on all lovers who

      ramble about at night, drinking the elements, instead of

      sleeping quietly in their beds. Every dead man to his cemetery,

      say I; and every friar to his monastery. Now, here's my master,

      Victorian, yesterday a cow-keeper, and to-day a gentleman;

      yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; and I must be up later

      than the nightingale, for as the abbot sings so must the

      sacristan respond. God grant he may soon be married, for then

      shall all this serenading cease. Ay, marry! marry! marry!

      Mother, what does marry mean? It means to spin, to bear

      children, and to weep, my daughter! And, of a truth, there is

      something more in matrimony than the wedding-ring. (To the

      musicians.) And now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum! as the ass said to

      the cabbages. Pray, walk this way; and don't hang down your

      heads. It is no disgrace to have an old father and a ragged

      shirt. Now, look you, you are gentlemen who lead the life of

      crickets; you enjoy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I

      beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pathetic; for it is a

      serenade to a damsel in bed, and not to the Man in the Moon.

      Your object is not to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring

      lulling dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his

      instrument as if it were the only one in the universe, but

      gently, and with a certain modesty, according with the others.

      Pray, how may I call thy name, friend?

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