Robert Browning
Porphyria's Lover
THE rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite And did its worst to vex the lake: I listen'd with heart fit to break. 5 When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form 10 Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And call'd me. When no voice replied, 15 She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, 20 Murmuring how she loved me—she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. 25 But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. 30 Be sure I look'd up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. 35 That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, 40 And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. 45 And I untighten'd next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss: I propp'd her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore 50 Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorn'd at once is fled, And I, its love, am gain'd instead! 55 Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirr'd, And yet God has not said a word! 60 |
> 'Porphyria' - a name of a woman
> 'Lover' - persona > 'sullen wind' - personification > Setting: what it was like when she was there > 'elm-tops down for spite' - tore down the tops of the trees > 'vex' - anger > Setting: a vicious storm, set in a cottage (private, isolated, like a dungeon) > Setting: Pathetic fallacy - shows that something is going to happen later on > 'cheerless grate' - fire grate, like a stove > Setting: 'blaze up' - because of her presence > 'dripping cloak and shawl' - because of the storm > 'damp hair fall' - noticing her hair > 'white shoulder bare' - quite explicit and raunchy for a Victorian poem > 'yellow hair' - blond hair, noticing the hair again > 'made my cheek lie there' - intimate > 'her yellow hair' - describing her beautiful hair > 'she loved me' - she is seducing him > 'And give herself to me forever' - an insight into the person's mind > 'but passion sometimes would prevail' - wondering how things could last forever whilst she is seducing him > 'Happy and proud; at last I knew' - this is not the workings of a sane man > 'debating what to do' - deciding what to do now that he finally got her to worship him > 'one long yellow string' - he turned her hair into a rope and strangled with it (throughout the poem he kept mentioning about her hair, he must have an obsession with it) > 'As a shut bud that holds a bee' - an interesting comparison > 'warily open her lids' - he opened her eyes which were shut > 'untighten'd the next tress....her cheek once more blush'd bright' - he unwound her hair and kissed her cheek > 'propp'd her head up' - a dead woman on his shoulder > 'God has not said a word!' - he thinks it's okay, because God hasn't punished him yet (insane) |
Youtube Reading of Porphyria's Lover |
The Labotory
I.
Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly, May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely, As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy--- Which is the poison to poison her, prithee? II. He is with her, and they know that I know Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear Empty church, to pray God in, for them!---I am here. III Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste, Pound at thy powder,---I am not in haste! Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things, Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's. IV That in the mortar---you call it a gum? Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come! And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue, Sure to taste sweetly,---is that poison too? V Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures, What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures! To carry pure death in an earring, a casket, A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree basket! VI Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give, And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live! But to light a pastile, and Elise, with her head And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead! VII Quick---is it finished? The colour's too grim! Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim? Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir, And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer! VIII What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me! That's why she ensnared him: this never will free The soul from those masculine eyes,---Say, ``no!'' To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go. IX For only last night, as they whispered, I brought My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does it all! X Not that I bid you spare her the pain; Let death be felt and the proof remain: Brand, burn up, bite into its grace--- He is sure to remember her dying face! XI Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose; It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close; The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee! If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me? XII Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill, You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will! But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings Ere I know it---next moment I dance at the King's! |
> In medias res (Latin) - in the midst of things
> Written in 1846 - old fashioned, archaic language > Starts in the middle of something > The stanzas are numbered to show the passing of time > 'Prithee' - please > 'Smithy' - a black smith/ forge who makes & shapes metal in a large furnace >Imagery - 'the devil's-smithy---' (with a devil's pitch fork?) > Tying a glass mask on her face so she doesn't breath in the fumes > Her man is cheating on her, and they all know but they carry on doing it > They think that she is crying and in a church praying but she's in the lab > 'the drear/Empty church' - enjambment - when the line carries on to the next line > 'Grind away' - a pestle and mortar, creating the poison > '--- I am not in haste!' - telling them to take their time, because she is not in any hurry to kill > She rather wait and stare at them, than go have fun and dance at the King's to the men because she is attractive. > 'gum' - gum/rubber from the trees, which when you break it comes out > 'phial' - a glass container for medicines, perfume or potions. > 'exquisite blue' - the colour of the potion, you usually wouldn't call a potion this > 'taste sweetly' - so that they will be willing to drink it > Telling that the poison maker has 'treasures' which are the poisons. > 'pleasures!' - it's her pleasure because it's her revenge > 'casket' - a small ornamental box/chest for holding jewels/letters etc. > 'signet' - a seal which is set by a ring as a stamp > 'filigree basket' - a wicker work > She starts to daydream about her going to the King's > 'mere lozenge' - like a strepsil > Fantasising about her killing two women who her lover had cheated with > 'grim' - dull, she wants her poison to be exquisite blue > She wants them to want to have it > She wants the poison to be sweet and so when they stir it it will be a beautiful color that they really want to drink it > 'What a drop' - a drop of poison > 'minion' - fat, would they have enough because she is fat > She is like an animal, trapping him > She has got eyes like a man > She is fantasising again about her lover and the girl in the kings > She would give her evils for 30 seconds and if she did not die with her stare then she would have to use the poison > She wants her to be in excruciating pain > She wants to see how much it hurts on her face, and so that twisted expression would remain on her face when she dies > The man would only remember this screwed up face, not the beautiful one > 'Is it done?' - is the poison done? > 'morose' - don't be sad/deathly > She wants to take her mask of so she can see it closely > She had spent all her money on this and his could never hurt her > Dust of the powder > She will go to the kings and kill all the women then celebrate |
Youtube Reading of The Laboratory |
The Pied Piper of Hamelin
I
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. II Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladle's, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. III At last the people in a body To the town hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, 'our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation. IV An hour they sat in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? "Bless us,' cried the Mayor, "what's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!" V "Come in!"--the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in-- There was no guessing his kith and kin! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as if my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!" VI He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarm of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats: And as for what your brain bewilders-- If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? Fifty thousand!" was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. VII Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished! Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast dry-saltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said 'Come bore me!' -- I found the Weser rolling o'er me." VIII You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!"-- when suddenly, up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!" IX A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty! X The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait! Beside, I've promised to visit by dinnertime Bagdad, and accept the prime Of the Head-Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor-- With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion." XI "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!" XII Once more he stept into the street And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. XIII The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step or cry, To the children merrily skipping by-- And could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its water's Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop And we shall see our children stop! When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me. For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more! XIV Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that heaven's gate Opens to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The mayor sent East, West, North and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear: "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six;" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street, Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn, But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That, in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe To the outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterranean prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why they don't understand. XV So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! And, whether they pipe us free, from rats or from mice, If we've promised them ought, let us keep our promise. |
> The numbered stanza's show that it is divided in time (Omniscient narrator)
> 'Brunswick' - is in Germany > 'river Weser...A pleasanter spot...' - a very pleasant and calm place > 'ditty' - a song > 'vermin' - rodents > The beat of this stanza has a meter and is consistent > 'fought the dogs and killed the cats' - showing that they are dangerous > 'vats' - where cheese is kept > 'licked the soup...' - they are cheecky rats > 'salted sprats' - small fish > 'Sunday hats' - hats which were worn by men only on Sundays > 'sharps and flats' - not in tune, showing it's not much fun in Hamelin > Everyone got together to the town hall > 'noddy' - an idiot > 'ermine' - wearing a beautiful robe make out of expensive animals's fur > 'dolts' - nothing > '...sure as fate, we'll send you packing!"' - they are going to kick the co-oproration out by rebelling > 'consternation' - with worry > They sat in the council for one hour, then the Mayor broke the silence > 'guilder' - old use of currency > 'were a mile hence!' - the mayor wishes that he was a mile away > Describing the Mayor as fat but small - little, because he doesn't have that much power > 'too-long opened oyster' - his eyes are gooey > Any sound he hears, he thinks it's a rat > 'looking bigger' - making himself look bigger - someone come into the room (it's the Pied Piper) > 'strangest figure' - strange and weird > 'swarthy' - dark / tanned > 'kirth and kin' - family or race > 'quaint attire' - everyone is looking saying 'wow' > ' "I'm able, By means of a secret charm...' - He is able to get any animal that lives under the sum with his charm > 'On creatures that do people harm' - doesn't always use his charm in the way that he should be - foreshadowing > 'vesture' - face > 'Cham' - a place near China > 'Nizam' - a group of people, like a tribe > 'vampyre-bats' - bats that suck blood > ' a thousand guilders?" ' - he wants a thousand guilders in return > 'Fifty thousand!" ' - they will give him 50 thousand instead if he does the work > 'stept' - archaic > 'Simling first...magic slept' - The Pied Piper smiled because he knows what tune he is going to play in order to charm the rats > 'three shill notes' - it only takes 3 notes to charm the rats > 'army muttered' - the grumbling of the rats saound like this at first > A crescendo > 'all plunged and perished! ' - all the rats went into the river and drowned > 'manuscript he cherished' - one rat was left behind so he wrote down the things that happened to him at at time, and then he would send it to Rat-land with him > 'scraping tripe' - tripe is meat which poor poeple used to eat, like haggis, sounds delicious to the rat > 'putting apples' - hearing the sounds of ripe apples being crunched > 'conserve' - jam > 'butter-casks' - > 'psaltery' - an ancient musical instrument > 'sugar-puncheon' - a sweet drink > The last rat went into the river and died > The people of Hamelin were celebrating and saying to have a party > The Pied Piper wants his money they own him first > 'blue' - they all looked upset > They were going to have a council dinner > Different types of wine ('Moselle' - desert wine, 'Hock' - German wine) > Half the money would be spent on filling up the cellae with wine > They said that they would not need to pay the Pied Piper, what's done is done, and the rats cannot come back to life > 'was in joke' - it was only a joke that we were going to pay you > 'thrify' - tight > 'take fifty' - only take a quater of the guilders we own you > 'visit by dinnertime Bagdad' - the Pied Piper has to go to Bagdad to accept a very fine and beautiful dish that the Head Cook made, because he helped to get rid of the scorpians in the kitchen. The Head cook didn't pay him too. > 'stiver' - dutch coin > 'pipe to another fashion' - threatening the Mayor and Co-orp with his pipe - foreshadowing > 'Being worse treated than a Cook?' - do you think that you can treat me worse than a cook? > 'vesture piebald' - doesn't even have a beard > 'Blow you pipe there till you burst!" ' - do what you want, you can even play you flute until you burst > 'And yo his lips again' - he is going to play his flute again > '(such sweet Soft notes...' - he began to play beautiful notes > A crescendo > The Pied Piper is taking all the children through his sweet melody charm > 'blocks of wood' - They can't speak or move, they are stuck/trapped - they connot warn the children > 'rack' - a torture instument, to describe a difficult situation which the Myor is in > The children are going toward the river - they are going to die like the rats > 'wondrous portal opened wide' - a massice hold opened on the side of the hill/mountain and te children followed the Pied Piper in > 'carven' - cave > The mountain-side shut quickly, but one kid was left behind because he hurt his leg, couldn't walk properly (like the rat) > 'playmates left!' - all his frinds left him > 'bereft' - Something has been taken away from him > 'speedily cured' - the Pied Piper told him that if he went with them, his foot would be cured > 'alas for Hamelin' - sad for Hamelin > 'Opens to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in!' - Jesus said this, it is easier for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to get a needle suck in its eye > They mayor sent people looking for the children and would reward them with as much silver and gold if they found them > 'twenty second of July' - every time a lawer wrote a legal document, they would write this date down to never forget it > 'Pied Piper's Street' - They named the street ,so they wold never forget it > 'playing pipe or tabor...loose his labor' - if anyone is caught playing the flute, because it is banned, they would go to jail > 'street so solemn' - There is nothing to be on the street - no smiles > 'story on a column...church-windows painted' - so everyone would find out how the children were lost > 'And I must...' - the narrator speaking > There is a tribe in Transylvania were they say that their mothers and fathers come out underground from prison > 'let is keep out promise.' - the moral of the story to keep your promise |
Youtube Reading of the Piped Piper of Hamelin |
My Last Duchess
FERRARA. That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Fr Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will't please you sit and look at her? I said ``Fr Pandolf'' by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Fr Pandolf chanced to say ``Her mantle laps ``Over my lady's wrist too much,'' or ``Paint ``Must never hope to reproduce the faint ``Half-flush that dies along her throat:'' such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart---how shall I say?---too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace---all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,---good! but thanked Somehow---I know not how---as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech---(which I have not)---to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, ``Just this ``Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, ``Or there exceed the mark''---and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, ---E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat, The Count your master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! |
> 'My' - possession
> 'FERRARA' - talking about the Duke, where is it set > 'the wall...I call' - rhyming couplets, but it doesn't sound like like - doesn't fit in with the beat > 'Looking as if she were alive' - the painting looks so real and beautiful > 'Fr Pandolf's hands' - he spent a whole day painting her > 'Will't please....at her? I said' - direct speech, no speech marks > 'for never read' - no-one has seen the depth and passion of this painting > 'The curtain I have drawn for you' - drawn back the curtains so only he can see it - possessive > 'not the first' - you are not the first person to ask this > 'ask thus. Sir' - caesura, a pause - like he is talking to us, a conversation > 'that spot Of joy' - not the only one who has make her happy (thinks she is cheating) > 'Her mantle laps' - coat, Pandolf said to move your coat, so you look more beautiful (to the duchess) unreliable narrator (wasn't there) > 'such staff' - pun, die of colour and death - she is obliged to blush > She has a spot of joy because of what Pandolf said to her > '...heart---how shall...' - a pause, like talking normally > 'she liked whate-er' - she was too easily impressed > 'her looks went everywhere' - she had a wondering eye for other men > Anything a man did - bring her cherries from the orchard / a mule, she thought it was amazing > 'he alike the approving speech' - she would thank and speak to everyone - flirting > 'My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name' - she doesn't appreciate this gift, doesn't know how prestigious it is, he is too arrogant > 'In speech ---(which I have not)' - he is not able to express his feelings, he has difficulty speaking to her > 'you disgusts me' - it disgusts his what she does > 'Oh sir, she smiles, no doubt' - every smile was the same, even to him - he wanted something more > 'This grew; I gave commands' - he got his men to kill her > 'stopped altogether. There she' - caesura , the end of her > 'Will't you please rise?' - direct speech > 'The Count you master's known munificence' - I know your master is generous, he's going to marry the Count's daughter > 'as I avowed' - going to move on to the next thing, he had enough of the last one > 'Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse' - metaphor, he is Neptune (God of the sea) and he is going to tame the sea-horse (the next duchess) |
Youtube Reading of My Last Duchess |
Fra Lippo Lippi
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds, And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar? The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up, Do — harry out, if you must show your zeal, Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, And nip each softling of a wee white mouse, 10 , , that's crept to keep him company! Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat, And please to know me likewise. Who am I? Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend Three streets off — he's a certain . . . how d'ye call? Master — a . . . Cosimo of the Medici, I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! 20 But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you: Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle, that man is! Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends. Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbors me (And many more beside, lads! more beside!) 30 And all's come square again. I'd like his face — His, elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern — for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say) And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk, A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so. What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down, 40 You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye — 'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first. Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival, And I've been three weeks shut within my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night — Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. 50 There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song — Flower o' the broom, Take away love, and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good is life since? Flower o' the thyme> — and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight — three slim shapes, And a face that looked up . . . zooks, sir, flesh and blood, That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went, 61 Curtain and counterpane and coverlet, All the bed-furniture — a dozen knots, There was a ladder! Down I let myself, Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, And after them. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met — If I've been merry, what matter who knows?hy And so as I was stealing back again 70 To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see! Though your eye twinkles still, you shake your head — Mine's shaved — a monk, you say — the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself, Mum's the word naturally; but a monk! Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now! 80 I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. I starved there. God knows how, a year or two On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day, My stomach being empty as your hat, The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall, over the bridge, 90 By the straight cut to the convent. Six words there, While I stood munching my first bread that month: "So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, 't was refection-time — "To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce" . . . "the mouthful of bread?" thought I; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici 100 Have given their hearts to — all at eight years old. Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure, 'T was not for nothing — the good bellyful, The warm serge and the rope that goes all round, And day-long blessed idleness beside! "Let's see what the urchin's fit for" — that came next, Not overmuch their way, I must confess. Such a to-do! They tried me with their books: Lord, they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove, 110 All the Latin I construe is, "amo" I love!> But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together, as my fortune was, Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires, And who will curse or kick him for his pains, Which gentleman processional and fine, Holding a candle to the Sacrament, Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again, 120 Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped, How say I? — nay, which dog bites?, which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street — Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike, He learns the look of things, and none the less For admonition from the hunger-pinch. I had a store of such remarks, be sure, Which, after I found leisure, turned to use. I drew men's faces on my copy-books, Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge, 130 Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, Found eyes and nose and chin for A's and B's, And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked black. "Nay," quoth the Prior, "turn him out, d' ye say? In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. What if at last we get our man of parts, We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine 140 And put the front on it that ought to be!" And hereupon he bade me daub away. Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a blank, Never was such prompt disemburdening. First, every sort of monk, the black and white, I drew them, fat and lean : then, folk at church, From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends — To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot, Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there 150 With the little children round him in a row Of admiration, half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm, Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head, (Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, 160 Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling), prayed, and so was gone, I painted all, then cried "'T is ask and have; Choose, for more's ready!" — laid the ladder flat, And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked, taught what to see and not to see, Being simple bodies — "That's the very man! Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman's like the Prior's niece who comes 170 To care about his asthma: it's the life!" But there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked; Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. "How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all! Faces, arms, legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show, With homage to the perishable clay, 180 But lift them over it, ignore it all, Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men — Man's soul, and it's a fire, smoke . . . no, it's not . . . It's vapor done up like a new-born babe — (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) It's . . . well, what matters talking, it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here's Giotto, with his Saint a-praising God, That sets us praising — why not stop with him? 190 Why put all thoughts of praise out of our head With wonder at lines, colors, and what not? Paint the soul, never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out, try at it a second time. Oh, that white smallish female with the breasts, She's just my niece . . . Herodias, I would say — Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off! Have it all out! "Now, is this sense, I ask? A fine way to paint soul, by painting body So ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further 200 And can't fare worse! Thus, yellow does for white When what you put for yellow's simply black, And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks naught. Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn, Left foot and right foot, go a double step, Make his flesh liker and his soul more like, Both in their order? Take the prettiest face, The Prior's niece . . . patron-saint — is it so pretty You can't discover if it means hope, fear, 210 Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? Suppose I've made her eyes all right and blue, Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash, And then add soul and heighten them three-fold? Or say there's beauty with no soul at all — (I never saw it — put the case the same — ) If you get simple beauty and naught else, You get about the best thing God invents: That's somewhat: and you'll find the soul you have missed, Within yourself, when you return him thanks. 220 "Rub all out! "Well, well, there's my life, in short, And so the thing has gone on ever since. I'm grown a man no doubt, I've broken bounds: You should not take a fellow eight years old And make him swear to never kiss the girls. I'm my own master, paint now as I please — Having a friend, you see, in the Corner-house! Lord, it's fast holding by the rings in front — Those great rings serve more purposes than just To plant a flag in, or tie up a horse! 230 And yet the old schooling sticks, the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work, The heads shake still — "It's art's decline, my son! You're not of the true painters, great and old; Brother Angelico's the man, you'll find; Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer: Fag on at flesh, you'll never make the third!" You keep your mistr . . . manners, and I'll stick to mine! I'm not the third, then: bless us, they must know! 240 Don't you think they're the likeliest to know, They with their Latin? So, I swallow my rage, Clench my teeth, suck my lips in tight, and paint To please them — sometimes do and sometimes don't; For, doing most, there's pretty sure to come A turn, some warm eve finds me at my saints — A laugh, a cry, the business of the world — Flower o' the peach, Death for us all, and his own life for each! And my whole soul revolves, the cup runs over, 250 The world and life's too big to pass for a dream, And I do these wild things in sheer despite, And play the fooleries you catch me at, In pure rage! The old mill-horse, out at grass After hard years, throws up his stiff heels so, Although the miller does not preach to him The only good of grass is to make chaff. What would men have? Do they like grass or no — May they or may n't they? all I want's the thing Settled forever one way. As it is, 260 You tell too many lies and hurt yourself: You don't like what you only like too much, You do like what, if given you at your word, You find abundantly detestable. For me, I think I speak as I was taught; I always see the garden and God there A-making man's wife: and, my lesson learned, The value and significance of flesh, I can't unlearn ten minutes afterwards, You understand me: I'm a beast, I know. 270 But see, now — why, I see as certainly As that the morning-star's about to shine, What will hap some day. We've a youngster here Comes to our convent, studies what I do, Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop: His name is Guidi — he'll not mind the monks — They call him Hulking Tom, he lets them talk — He picks my practice up — he'll paint apace, I hope so — though I never live so long, I know what's sure to follow. You be judge! 280 You speak no Latin more than I, belike; However, you're my man, you've seen the world — The beauty and the wonder and the power, The shapes of things, their colors, lights and shades, Changes, surprises, — and God made it all! — For what? Do you feel thankful, ay or no, For this fair town's face, yonder river's line, The mountain round it and the sky above, Much more the figures of man, woman, child, These are the frame to? What's it all about? 290 To be passed over, despised? or dwelt upon, Wondered at? oh, this last of course! — you say. But why not do as well as say — paint these Just as they are, careless what comes of it? God's works — paint any one, and count it crime To let a truth slip. Don't object, "His works Are here already; nature is complete: Suppose you reproduce her (which you can't) There's no advantage! you must beat her, then." For, don't you mark? we're made so that we love 300 First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted — better to us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that; God uses us to help each other so, Lending our minds out. Have you noticed, now, Your cullion's hanging face? A bit of chalk, And trust me but you should, though! How much more, If I drew higher things with the same truth! That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place, 310 Interpret God to all of you! Oh, oh, It makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world's no blot for us, Nor blank; it means intensely, and means good: To find its meaning is my meat and drink. "Ay, but you don't so instigate to prayer!" Strikes in the Prior: "when your meaning's plain It does not say to folk — remember matins, Or, mind you fast next Friday! "Why, for this What need of art at all? A skull and bones, 320 Two bits of stick nailed crosswise, or, what's best, A bell to chime the hour with, does as well. I painted a Saint Laurence six months since At Prato, splashed the fresco in fine style: " How looks my painting, now the scaffold's down?" I ask a brother: "Hugely," he returns — "Already not one phiz of your three slaves Who turn the Deacon off his toasted side, But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content, The pious people have so eased their own 330 With coming to say prayers there in a rage: We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Expect another job this time next year, For pity and religion grow i' the crowd — Your painting serves its purpose! Hang the fools! — That is — you'll not mistake an idle word Spoke in a huff by a poor monk. God wot, Tasting the air this spicy night which turns The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine! Oh, the church knows! don't misreport me, now! 340 It's natural a poor monk out of bounds Should have his apt word to excuse himself: And hearken how I plot to make amends. I have bethought me: I shall paint a piece . . . There's for you! Give me six months, then go, see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! Bless the nuns! They want a cast o' my office. I shall paint God in the midst. Madonna and her babe, Ringed by a bowery flowery angel-brood, Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet 350 As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church at midsummer. And then i' the front, of course a saint or two — Saint John, because he saves the Florentines, Saint Ambrose, who puts down in black and white The convent's friends and gives them a long day, And Job, I must have him there past mistake, The man of Uz (and Us without the z, Painters who need his patience). Well, all these Secured at their devotion, up shall come 360 Out of a corner when you least expect, As one by a dark stair into a great light, Music and talking, who but Lippo! I! — Mazed, motionless and moonstruck — I'm the man! Back I shrink — what is this I see and hear? I, caught up with my monk's-things by mistake, My old serge gown and rope that goes all round, I, in this presence, this pure company! Where's a hole, where's a corner for escape? Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing 370 Forward, puts out a soft palm — "Not so fast!" — Addresses the celestial presence, "nay — He made you and devised you, after all, Though he's none of you! Could Saint John there draw — His camel-hair make up a painting-brush? We come to brother Lippo for all that, "Iste perfecit opus." So, all smile — I shuffle sideways with my blushing face Under the cover of a hundred wings Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you're gay 380 And play hot cockles, all the doors being shut, Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off To some safe bench behind, not letting go The palm of her, the little lily thing That spoke the good word for me in the nick, Like the Prior's niece . . . Saint Lucy, I would say. And so all's saved for me, and for the church A pretty picture gained. Go, six months hence! Your hand, sir, and good-bye: no lights, no lights! 390 The street's hushed, and I know my own way back, Don't fear me! There's the gray beginning. Zooks |
> 'brother' - he calls him 'brother' as that is what they call each other.
> 'by your leave!' - (archaic) if you believe me > 'You need not clap your torches to my face' - Don't put the fire in my face > 'catch me at an alley's end' - Been stopped by guards > 'sportive ladies' - hookers > 'Carmine...hunt it up' - the monestry, where he lives, look it up > Don't at like a rat - don't at like you are better than me, I am a monk > 'fiddling on my throat' - they were strangling him > 'Master...Cosimo of the Medici' - He says he is living with the king, the guards realised what they have done to the monk. > 'gullet's-grip!' - how dare you strangle me > 'knaves' - fools > 'pilchards' - small fish > 'quater-florin to the health' - Here is a coin, go get drunk, they are forgiven > 'munificent' - generous > 'John Baptist's' - the first to baptise Christ - religious imagery. > 'or you should see!' - You've seen may work because I'm famous > 'twinkle in your eye' - I knew you were alright from the start > 'To roam the town and sing out carnival' - He got bored stuck in his room painting, because everything is happening outside, they are having fun > 'saints and saints' - all he was painting were saints > 'Flower o' the...and what good is a tomb!' - singing > 'zooks' - nails of Christ, a swear word meaning 'bloody hell' > 'Curtain..coverlet' - he is going to escape from his house. |
Summary of Fra Lippo Lippi
It is a dramatic monologue by a monk, (in the 15th C. and was a famous painter in Italy), who was caught out drunk late at night by watchmen. He questions how he should draw people based on their souls, like God would see them, rather than the Church authority.
The Patriot
AN OLD STORY.
I. It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day. II. The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, ``Good folk, mere noise repels--- But give me your sun from yonder skies!'' They had answered, ``And afterward, what else?'' III. Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Nought man could do, have I left undone: And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. IV. There's nobody on the house-tops now--- Just a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles' Gate---or, better yet, By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. V. I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. VI. Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go! In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead. " Thou, paid by the World, - what dost thou owe Me?''---God might have question; but now instead, 'Tis God shall requite! I am safer so. |
> 'AN OLD STORY.' - it places the story in ancient times
> 'Patriot' - someone who loves their country so much > 'roses, all the way,' - roses represent love - possibly from the country. showing happiness when he was walking on a path, remembering what had happened a year ago > 'myrtle' -a beautiful; white, tropical flower used for decorating > This is all imagery of flags waving, flowers, roses and myrtle > 'year ago' - time and place set - Italy > 'mist with bells' - church bells > 'old walls' - showing that it's an ancient place > 'crowd and cries' - everyone was shouting at him > 'Had' - 'if' showing the unreliability of the narrator, he didn't say this > 'give me your sun from yonder skies!" ' - I don't want you, I want the Sun, if you love me so much give me the sun > 'They...'And afterwards,' - the people, then what else do you want? How he was considered by the people a year ago > 'I who leaped at the sun' - the register changes, Icarus' moral story of boasting and flying too high > 'loving friends' - he only did this for the town folk > 'Naught a man...I left undone' - No-one could have done what I did > 'my harvest, what I reap' - metaphor, gather food from field and this is what happened when he reaped (a year ago - something bad happened) > He is going to reap a year later > 'nobody on the house-tops' - no-one cared about him > 'palsied' - handicapped? , just a few people sitting by the windows > 'all allows' - everybody knows > 'Shambles' Gate---or, better yet' - gate into the city, the best view. He's walking into the city where everyone is shouting at him - going to be hung > 'scaffold's foot, I trow.' - below where they get hung, I think (archaic) > He is going along in the heavy rain > 'rope cuts...my wrists behind' - they're pushing him through the crowd and getting his hands tied up so he doesn't move > 'my forehead bleeds...they fling...Stones...' - they're throwing stones at him, he must have done something really wrong > 'Thus I enter Brescia, and thus I go!' - he's going to the city and to heaven > 'such triumphs' - he believes what he did the right things. People who have done good thing drop dead? > The world paid you, so you don't need to owe me anything > 'requite' - paid back, God is going to pay back the good things he has done |
Youtube Reading of The Patriot |