LOR. Then are parrots rational When they regurgitate the thing they hear! This fool is but an unit of the crowd, And crowds are senseless as the vasty deep That sinks or surges as the moon dictates. I know these crowds, and know that any man That hath a glib tongue and a rolling eye Can as he willeth with them. [Removes his mask and mounts steps of Loggia.] Citizens! [Prolonged yells and groans from the crowd.] Yes, I am he, I am that same Lorenzo Whom you have nicknamed the Magnificent. [Further terrific yells, shakings of fists, brandishings of bill- hooks, insistent cries of ‘Death to Lorenzo!’ ‘Down with the Magnificent!’ Cobblers on fringe of crowd, down c., exhibit especially all the symptoms of epilepsy, whooping-cough, and other ailments.] You love not me. [The crowd makes an ugly rush. LOR. appears likely to be dragged down and torn limb from limb, but raises one hand in nick of time, and continues:] Yet I deserve your love. [The yells are now variegated with dubious murmurs. A cobbler down c. thrusts his face feverishly in the face of another and repeats, in a hoarse interrogative whisper, ‘Deserves our love?’] Not for the sundry boons I have bestow’d And benefactions I have lavished Upon Firenze, City of the Flowers, But for the love that in this rugged breast I bear you. [The yells have now died away, and there is a sharp fall in dubious murmurs. The cobbler down c. says, in an ear-piercing whisper, ‘The love he bears us,’ drops his lower jaw, nods his head repeatedly, and awaits in an intolerable state of suspense the orator’s next words.] I am not a blameless man, [Some dubious murmurs.] Yet for that I have lov’d you passing much, Shall some things be forgiven me. [Noises of cordial assent.] There dwells In this our city, known unto you all, A man more virtuous than I am, and A thousand times more intellectual; Yet envy not I him, for--shall I name him?-- He loves not you. His name? I will not cut Your hearts by speaking it. Here let it stay On tip o’ tongue. [Insistent clamour.] Then steel you to the shock!-- Savonarola. [For a moment or so the crowd reels silently under the shock. Cobbler down c. is the first to recover himself and cry ‘Death to Savonarola!’ The cry instantly becomes general. LOR. holds up his hand and gradually imposes silence.] His twin bug-bears are Yourselves and that New Learning which I hold Less dear than only you. [Profound sensation. Everybody whispers ‘Than only you’ to everybody else. A woman near steps of Loggia attempts to kiss hem of LOR.’s garment.] Would you but con With me the old philosophers of Hellas, Her fervent bards and calm historians, You would arise and say ‘We will not hear