That Cousin here again? He waits outside? 220 Must see you--you, and not with me? Those loans? More gaming debts to pay? You smiled for that? Well, let smiles buy me! Have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth? 225 I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit The gray remainder of the evening out, Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly How I could paint, were I but back in France, One picture, just one more--the Virgin's face, 230 Not yours this time! I want you at my side To hear them--that is, Michel Agnolo-- Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Will you? Tomorrow, satisfy your friend. I take the subjects for his corridor, 235 Finish the portrait out of hand--there, there, And throw him in another thing or two If he demurs; the whole should prove enough To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside, What's better and what's all I care about, 240 Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff! Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he, The Cousin! what does he to please you more? I am grown peaceful as old age tonight. I regret little, I would change still less. 245 Since there my past life lies, why alter it? The very wrong to Francis!--it is true I took his coin, was tempted and complied, And built this house and sinned, and all is said. My father and my mother died of want. 250 Well, had I riches of my own? You see How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died: And I have labored somewhat in my time And not been paid profusely. Some good son 255 Paint my two hundred pictures--let him try! No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes, You loved me quite enough, it seems tonight. This must suffice me here. What would one have? In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance-- 260 Four great walls in the New Jerusalem, Meted on each side by the angel's reed, For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo, and me To cover--the three first without a wife, While I have mine! So--still they overcome 265 Because there's still Lucrezia--as I choose. Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love. THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH ROME, 15--