With a flourish of red all round it, pinked her man
Prettily; but she fought them one to six.
They stopped that,—but her tongue continued free: (1040)
She spat forth such invective at her spouse,
O’erfrothed him with such foam of murderer,
Thief, pandar—that the popular tide soon turned,
The favour of the very sbirri, straight
Ebbed from the husband, set toward his wife,
People cried “Hands off, pay a priest respect!”
And “persecuting fiend” and “martyred saint”
Began to lead a measure from lip to lip.
And the question “Prithee, friend, how comes my purse (1050)
“I’ the poke of you?”—admits of no reply.
Here was a priest found out in masquerade,
A wife caught playing truant if no more;
While the Count, mortified in mien enough,
And, nose to face, an added palm in length,
Was plain writ “husband” every piece of him:
Capture once made, release could hardly be.
Beside, the prisoners both made appeal,
“Take us to Rome!”
The husband trooping after, piteously,
Tail between legs, no talk of triumph now—
No honour set firm on its feet once more
On two dead bodies of the guilty,—nay,
No dubious salve to honour’s broken pate
From chance that, after all, the hurt might seem
A skin-deep matter, scratch that leaves no scar:
For Guido’s first search,—ferreting, poor soul,
Here, there, and everywhere in the vile place
Abandoned to him when their backs were turned, (1070)
Found,—furnishing a last and best regale,—
All the love-letters bandied twixt the pair
Since the first timid trembling into life
O’ the love-star till its stand at fiery full.
Mad prose, mad verse, fears, hopes, triumph, despair,
Avowal, disclaimer, plans, dates, names;—was nought
Wanting to prove, if proof consoles at all,
That this had been but the fifth act o’ the piece
Whereof the due proemium, months ago
These playwrights had put forth, and ever since (1080)
Matured the middle, added ’neath his nose.
He might go cross himself: the case was clear.
Each party its best, and leave the law do right,
Let her shine forth and show, as God in heaven,
Vice prostrate, virtue pedestalled at last,
The triumph of truth! What else shall glad our gaze
When once authority has knit the brow
And set the brain behind it to decide
Between the wolf and sheep turned litigants? (1090)
“This is indeed a business” law shook head:
“A husband charges hard things on a wife,
“The wife as hard o’ the husband: whose fault here?
“A wife that flies her husband’s house, does wrong:
“The male friend’s interference looks amiss,
“Lends a suspicion: but suppose the wife,
“On the other hand, be jeopardised at home—
“Nay, that she simply hold, ill-groundedly,
“An apprehension she is jeopardised,—
“And further, if the friend partake the fear, (1100)
“And, in a commendable charity
“Which trusteth all, trust her that she mistrusts,—
“What do they but obey the natural law?
“Pretence may this be and a cloak for sin,
“And circumstances that concur i’ the close
“Hint as much, loudly—yet scarce loud enough
“To drown the answer ‘strange may yet be true:’
“Innocence often looks like guiltiness.
“The accused declare that in thought, word, and deed,
“Innocent were they both from first to last (1110)
“As male-babe haply laid by female-babe
“At church on edge of the baptismal font
“Together for a minute, perfect-pure.
“Difficult to believe, yet possible,
“As witness Joseph, the friend’s patron-saint.
“The night at the inn—there charity nigh chokes
“Ere swallow what they both asseverate;
“Though down the gullet faith may feel it go,
“When mindful of what flight fatigued the flesh
“Out of its faculty and fleshliness, (1120)
“Subdued it to the soul, as saints assure:
“So long a flight necessitates a fall
“On the first bed, though in a lion’s den.
“And the first pillow, though the lion’s back:
“Difficult to believe, yet possible.
“Last come the letter’s bundled beastliness—
“Authority repugns give glance to twice,
“Turns head, and almost lets her whip-lash fall;
“Yet here a voice cries ‘Respite!’ from the clouds—
“The accused, both in a tale, protest, disclaim, (1130)
“Abominate the horror: ‘Not my hand’
“Asserts the friend—‘Nor mine’ chimes in the wife,
“ ‘Seeing I have no hand, nor write at all.’
“Illiterate—for she goes on to ask,
“What if the friend did pen now verse now prose,
“Commend it to her notice now and then?
“ ’Twas pearls to swine: she read no more than wrote,
“And kept no more than read, for as they fell
“She ever brushed the burr-like things away,
“Or, better, burned them, quenched the fire in smoke.(1140)
“As for this fardel, filth, and foolishness,
“She sees it now the first time: burn it too!
“While for his part the friend vows ignorance
“Alike of what bears his name and bear hers:
“ ’Tis forgery, a felon’s masterpiece,
“And, as ’tis the fox still finds the stench,
“Home- manufacturer and the husband’s work.
“Though he confesses, the ingenuous friend,
“That certain missives, letters of a sort,
“Flighty and feeble, which assigned themselves (1150)
“To the wife, no less have fallen, far too oft,
“In his path: wherefrom he understood just this—
“That were they verily the lady’s own,
“Why, she who penned them, since he never saw
“Save for one minute the mere face of her,
“Since never had
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