Ferrara
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hat's my last Duchess painted on the wall,Looking as if she were alive. I callThat piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's handsWorked busily a day, and there she stands.Will't please you sit and look at her? I said"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never readStrangers like you that pictured countenance,The depth and passion of its earnest glance,But to myself they turned (since none puts bythe curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 10And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,How such a glance came there; so, not the firstAre you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas notHer husband's presence only, called that spotOf joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhapsFra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle lapsOver my lady's wrist too much," or "PaintMust never hope to reproduce the faintHalf-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuffWas courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 20For calling up that spot of joy. She hadA heart--how shall I say--too soon made glad,Too easily impressed; she liked whate'erShe 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 foolBroke in the orchard for her, the white muleShe rode with round the terrace--all and eachWould draw from her alike the approving speech, 30Or blush, at least. She thanked men--good! but thankedSomehow--I know not how--as if she rankedMy gift of a nine-hundred-years-old nameWith anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blameThis sort of trifling? Even had you skillIn speech (which I have not) to make your willQuite clear to such an one, and say, "Just thisOr that in you disgusts me; here you miss,Or there exceed the mark"--and if she letHerself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,E'en that would be some stooping; and I chooseNever to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,Whene'er I passed her; but who passed withoutMuch the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;Then all smiles stopped together. There she standsAs if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meetThe company below, then. I repeat,The Count your master's known munificenceIs ample warrant that no just pretence 50Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowedAt starting, is my object. Nay, we'll goTogether down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! NOTES:"My Last Duchess" puts in the mouth of a Duke of Ferrara,a typical husband and art patron of the Renaissance, adescription of his last wife, whose happy nature and universalkindliness were a perpetual affront to his exactingself-predominance, and whose suppression, by his command,has made the vacancy he is now, in his interviewwith the envoy for a new match, taking precaution to fillmore acceptably. 3. Fra Pandolf, and 56. Claus of Innsbruck, are imaginary.
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