Act II: Scene I
1st LORD.Were it not better to withdraw awhile,After our dance, unto the torch-lit gardens?The air is fresh and sweet without.
1st LADY.Nay, signor.I like this heavy air, rich with warm odors,The broad, clear light, the many-colored throng.I might have breathed on mine own balconyThe evening breeze.
1st LORD.Still at cross purposes.When will you cease to flout me?
1st LADY.When I prizeA lover's sigh more dear than mine own pleasure.See, the Signora Julia passed again.She is far too pale for so much white, I find.Donna Aurora--ah, how beautiful!That spreading ruff, sprinkled with seeds of gold,Becomes her well. Would you believe it, sir,Folk say her face is twin to mine--what think you?
1st LORD.For me, the huge earth holds but one such face.You know it well.
1St LADY.The hall is overfilled;Go we without.
2d LADY.Thrice he hath danced with her.She is not one of us--her face is strange;Colored and carven to meet most men's desire--Is't not, my lord? Certes, it loses naughtFor lack of ornament. Pray, ask her name,If but for my sake.
2d LORD.I have already asked.She is the daughter to the Spagnoletto,Maria-Rosa.
2d LADY.Ah, I might have guessed.The form and face are matched with the apparel,As in a picture. 'T was the master's hand,I warrant you, arranged with such quaint art,Such seeming-careless care, the dead, white pearlsWithin her odd, bright hair.
DON JOHN.Now hope, now fearReigned lord of my wild dreams. One name still sangLike the repeated strain of some caged bird,Its sweet, persistent music through my brain.One vanishing face upon the empty airShone forth and faded night and day. And you,Did you not find me hasty, over-bold?Nay, tell me all your thought.
MARIA.You know, my lord,I am no courtier, and belike my thoughtMight prove too rustic for a royal ear.
DON JOHN.Speak on, speak on!Though you should rail, your voice would still outsingRebeck and mandoline.
MARIA.Is it not strange?I knew you not, albeit I might have guessed,If only from the simple garb of black,And golden collar, 'midst the motley huesOf our gay nobles. I know not what besides,But this first won me. Be not angered, sir;But, as I looked, I never ranked you higherThan simple gentleman. I asked your name;Then, when you Highness stooped to pick my flower,My lord, that moment was my thought a traitor,For it had fain discrowned you.
DON JOHN.May God's angelsReward such treason. Say me those words again.Let the rich blush born of that dear confessionAgain dye cheek and brow, and fade and meltForever, even as then.
MARIA.We are watched, my lord.This is no place, no hour, for words like these.
DON JOHN.When, where then, may we meet?
Words in this poem 17
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
- signor n.
- Sir; Mr; -- a title of address or respect among the Italians. [It. See Seignior.]
- signora n.
- Madam; Mrs; -- a title of address or respect among the Italians. [It.]
- donna n.
- A lady; madam; mistress; -- the title given a lady in Italy. [It. donna, L. domina. See Don, Dame.]
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- carven a.
- Wrought by carving; ornamented by carvings; carved.
- certes adv.
- Certainly; in truth; verily. [F. certes, for à certes, fr. L. certus. See Certain.]
- quaint a.
- Prudent; wise; hence, crafty; artful; wily. [OE. queint, queynte, coint, prudent, wise, cunning, pretty, odd, OF. cointe cultivated, amiable, agreeable, neat, fr. L. cognitus known, p. p. of cognoscere to ]
- caged a.
- Confined in, or as in, a cage; like a cage or prison.
- courtier n.
- One who is in attendance at the court of a prince; one who has an appointment at court. [From Court.]
- belike adv.
- It is likely or probably; perhaps. -- Be*like"ly, adv. [Pref. be- (for by) + like.]
- outsing v. t.
- To surpass in singing.
- mandoline n.
- A small and beautifully shaped instrument resembling the lute. [F. mandoline, It. mandolino, dim. of mandola, fr. L. pandura. See Bandore.]
- albeit conj.
- Even though; although; notwithstanding. [OE. al be although it be, where al is our all. Cf. Although.]
- garb n.
- External appearance, as expressive of the feelings or character; looks; fashion or manner, as of speech. [OF. garbe looks, countenance, grace, ornament, fr. OHG. garawi, garwi, ornament, dress. akin to E. gear. See Gear, n.]
- highness n.
- The state of being high; elevation; loftiness. [AS. heáhnes.]
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Act II: Scene I is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Emma Lazarus, Volume 1, Project Gutenberg ebook #3295; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Emma Lazarus, Act II: Scene I, in The Spagnoletto (1876), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #3295, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lazarus-spagnoletto/act-ii-scene-i.html, id L19138.
Form and metre
Act II: Scene I is 86 lines in 16 stanzas.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 --A--A lady · signor · odorsA · throng · balcony · breezeA
- 10 -A---A--- john · fearA · sang · bird · brain · airA · you · bold · thought
- 12 AA-- johnA · onA · outsing · mandoline
- 14 A-BA-B johnA · angels · againB · confessionA · melt · thenB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| 1st LORD. | 2 | ·· |
| Were it not better to withdraw awhile, | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘/ |
| After our dance, unto the torch-lit gardens? | 11 | ··/······/˘ |
| The air is fresh and sweet without. | 8 | ········ |
| 1st LADY. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| Nay, signor. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| I like this heavy air, rich with warm odors, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| The broad, clear light, the many-colored throng. | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| I might have breathed on mine own balcony | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| The evening breeze. | 4 | ·/˘· |
| 1st LORD. | 2 | ·· |
| Still at cross purposes. | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| When will you cease to flout me? | 7 | ······· |
| 1st LADY. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| When I prize | 3 | ··· |
| A lover's sigh more dear than mine own pleasure. | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| See, the Signora Julia passed again. | 10 | ··˘/˘···˘/ |
| She is far too pale for so much white, I find. | 11 | ··········· |
| Donna Aurora--ah, how beautiful! | 10 | /˘·····/˘˘ |
| That spreading ruff, sprinkled with seeds of gold, | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| Becomes her well. Would you believe it, sir, | 10 | ˘/····˘/·· |
| Folk say her face is twin to mine--what think you? | 11 | ··········· |
| 1st LORD. | 2 | ·· |
| For me, the huge earth holds but one such face. | 10 | ·········· |
| You know it well. | 4 | ···· |
| 1St LADY. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| The hall is overfilled; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Go we without. | 4 | ···· |
| 2d LADY. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| Thrice he hath danced with her. | 6 | ······ |
| She is not one of us--her face is strange; | 10 | ·········· |
| Colored and carven to meet most men's desire-- | 11 | /˘·/˘····˘/ |
| Is't not, my lord? Certes, it loses naught | 10 | ····/˘·/˘· |
| For lack of ornament. Pray, ask her name, | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| If but for my sake. | 5 | ····· |
| 2d LORD. | 2 | ·· |
| I have already asked. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| She is the daughter to the Spagnoletto, | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| Maria-Rosa. | 5 | ˘/˘/˘ |
| 2d LADY. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| Ah, I might have guessed. | 5 | ····· |
| The form and face are matched with the apparel, | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| As in a picture. 'T was the master's hand, | 11 | ···/˘···/˘· |
| I warrant you, arranged with such quaint art, | 10 | ·/˘·˘/···· |
| Such seeming-careless care, the dead, white pearls | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Within her odd, bright hair. | 6 | ······ |
| DON JOHN. | 2 | ·· |
| Now hope, now fear | 4 | ···· |
| Reigned lord of my wild dreams. One name still sang | 10 | ·········· |
| Like the repeated strain of some caged bird, | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Its sweet, persistent music through my brain. | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| One vanishing face upon the empty air | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Shone forth and faded night and day. And you, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Did you not find me hasty, over-bold? | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Nay, tell me all your thought. | 6 | ······ |
| MARIA. | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| You know, my lord, | 4 | ···· |
| I am no courtier, and belike my thought | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| Might prove too rustic for a royal ear. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| DON JOHN. | 2 | ·· |
| Speak on, speak on! | 4 | ···· |
| Though you should rail, your voice would still outsing | 10 | ········/˘ |
| Rebeck and mandoline. | 6 | /˘···· |
| MARIA. | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| Is it not strange? | 4 | ···· |
| I knew you not, albeit I might have guessed, | 11 | ····˘/˘···· |
| If only from the simple garb of black, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And golden collar, 'midst the motley hues | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Of our gay nobles. I know not what besides, | 11 | ·/·/˘·····/ |
| But this first won me. Be not angered, sir; | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| But, as I looked, I never ranked you higher | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| Than simple gentleman. I asked your name; | 10 | ·/˘/˘˘···· |
| Then, when you Highness stooped to pick my flower, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| My lord, that moment was my thought a traitor, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| For it had fain discrowned you. | 7 | ······· |
| DON JOHN. | 2 | ·· |
| May God's angels | 4 | ··/˘ |
| Reward such treason. Say me those words again. | 11 | ˘/·/˘····˘/ |
| Let the rich blush born of that dear confession | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| Again dye cheek and brow, and fade and melt | 10 | ˘/········ |
| Forever, even as then. | 7 | ˘/˘/˘·· |
| MARIA. | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| We are watched, my lord. | 5 | ····· |
| This is no place, no hour, for words like these. | 10 | ·····/···· |
| DON JOHN. | 2 | ·· |
| When, where then, may we meet? | 6 | ······ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.