_Otti._ Here 's the wine; I brought it when we left the house above, And glasses too--wine of both sorts. Black? White then? _Seb._ But am not I his cut-throat? What are you? _Otti._ There trudges on his business from the Duomo Benet the Capuchin, with his brown hood And bare feet; always in one place at church, Close under the stone wall by the south entry. I used to take him for a brown cold piece Of the wall's self, as out of it he rose To let me pass--at first, I say, I used: Now, so has that dumb figure fastened on me, I rather should account the plastered wall A piece of him, so chilly does it strike. This, Sebald? _Seb._ No, the white wine--the white wine! Well, Ottima, I promised no new year Should rise on us the ancient shameful way; Nor does it rise. Pour on! To your black eyes! Do you remember last damned New Year's day? _Otti._ You brought those foreign prints. We looked at them Over the wine and fruit. I had to scheme To get him from the fire. Nothing but saying His own set wants the proof-mark, roused him up To hunt them out. _Seb._ 'Faith, he is not alive To fondle you before my face. _Otti._ Do you Fondle me then! Who means to take your life For that, my Sebald? _Seb._ Hark you, Ottima! One thing to guard against. We 'll not make much One of the other--that is, not make more Parade of warmth, childish officious coil, Than yesterday: as if, sweet, I supposed Proof upon proof were needed now, now first, To show I love you--yes, still love you--love you In spite of Luca and what 's come to him --Sure sign we had him ever in our thoughts, White sneering old reproachful face and all! We 'll even quarrel, love, at times, as if We still could lose each other, were not tied By this: conceive you? _Otti._ Love! _Seb._ Not tied so sure! Because though I was wrought upon, have struck His insolence back into him--am I So surely yours?--therefore forever yours? _Otti._ Love, to be wise, (one counsel pays another,) Should we have--months ago, when first we loved, For instance that May morning we two stole Under the green ascent of sycamores-- If we had come upon a thing like that Suddenly ... _Seb._ "A thing"--there again--"a thing!"