9.

That shall be to-morrow

Not to-night:

I must bury sorrow

Out of sight.

10.

Must a little weep, Love,

· Foolish me!

And so fall asleep, Love,

Loved by thee.

FRA LIPPO LIPPI.

I AM poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk !
What, it's past midnight, and you go the rounds,
And here you catch me at an alley's end

Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar.
The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up,

Do, harry out, if you must show your zeal,
Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole,
And nip each softling of a wee white mouse,
Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company!
Aha, you know your betters? Then, you'll take
Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat,
And please to know me likewise. Who am I?
Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend

Three streets off. he's a certain... how d'ye call?
Mastera... Cosimo of the Medici,

In the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were be! Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged,

How you affected such a gullet's-gripe!

But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves
Pick up a manner nor discredit you.

Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets
And count fair prize what comes into their net?
He's Judas to a tittle, that man is !

Just such a face! why, sir, you make amends.
Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go
Drink out this quarter-florin to the health
Of the munificent House that harbours me
(And many more beside, lads! more beside!)
And all's come square again. I'd like his face -
His, elbowing on his comrade in the door

With the pike and lantern, — for the slave that holds
John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair

With one hand (“look you, now," as who should say)
And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped!
It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk,
A wood-coal or the like? or you should see!
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so.
What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down,
You know them and they take you? like enough!
I saw the proper twinkle in your eye —

"Tell you I liked your looks at very first.

Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands

To roam the town and sing out carnival,

And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,
A-painting for the great man, saints and saints

And saints again. I could not paint all night--
Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air.

There came a hurry of feet and little feet,

A sweep of lutestrings, laughs, and whifts of song,-
Flower o' the broom,

Take away love, and our earth is a tomb!
Flower o' the quince,

I let Lisa go, and what good's in life since?
Flower o' the thyme ·
and so on. Round they went.
Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter,
Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight, three slim

shapes

And a face that looked up... zooks, sir, flesh and blood, That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went,

Curtain and counterpane and coverlet,

There was a ladder! down I let myself,

Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped,

And after them. I came up with the fun

Hard by St. Laurence, hail fellow, well met, -
Flower o' the rose,

If I've been merry, what matter who knows?
And so as I was stealing back again
To get to bed and have a bit of sleep
Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work
On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast
With his great round stone to subdue the flesh,
You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see!
Though you eye twinkles still, you shake your

head