The humour of Italy; . All. That which attracts the human heart, How vain and frail it seems to be ! KING TEODORO AND HIS CREDITORS. 59 Teod. Good heavens ! how very weary, How infinitely dreary, Are good and virtuous people That preach morality !Gaff. In order to avenging Your wrongs and impositions, At all the courts of Europe I will present For Theodore the banished Well take up a collection, And I shall be most happy, Contributing my As long as, in this city,(la?id!ord). In prison, sir, you stay, I shall be glad to send you Your dinner every day !Belisa. C
The humour of Italy; . All. That which attracts the human heart, How vain and frail it seems to be ! KING TEODORO AND HIS CREDITORS. 59 Teod. Good heavens ! how very weary, How infinitely dreary, Are good and virtuous people That preach morality !Gaff. In order to avenging Your wrongs and impositions, At all the courts of Europe I will present For Theodore the banished Well take up a collection, And I shall be most happy, Contributing my As long as, in this city,(la?id!ord). In prison, sir, you stay, I shall be glad to send you Your dinner every day !Belisa. Cheer up, O my brother ! The laws of this day Are always in favour Of him who cant pay ! As soon as they see That you have not a groat They must set you free, If they wish it, or not!All. Take comfort, farewell !— Never anything stable In this world did dwell!Teod. In peace kindly leave me, Ive told you before—? Ive had enough preaching, And wish for no more! Qiovaimi Battista Casti (1721-1803). 6o ITALIAN Thou askest mefor money (whileIve none), And losest time invain which thoumightst save: If thou an I pro-mise to pay dostcrave, Ill make no bonesat all to give theeone: I neither grant theenor refuse theboon ; Since what onenever had onenever gave ; I promise that Illpay thee when Ihave; And thourt con-tent with mygoodwill there-on. Then lets havepeace, nor let methus be bored For those threegroats a hundredtimes a day : When got, Ill givethem of my ownaccord. THE POET AND HIS CREDITORS. 61 Why wilt thou thus torment and wear me out ?Why worry a poor devil in this way ? Canst thou not say, Where nothing is—theres nought. The Poet laments the good old times previous to the existenceof Duns; Bailiffs; Writs, and Oh ! blissful days, what time Queen Bertha spun !1 Most fortunate and highly favoured season!That age hight anciently the golden one, No doubt because so happy was the reason:No were then, nor writs, to dun. Nor frequent law-suits, such as
Size: 1030px × 2426px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorwerneral, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookyear1892
