Strained past endurance, he had spared her still,
At any cost of silence. What is such love
To mine, that would outrival Roman heroes--
Watch mine arm crisp and shrivel in quick flame,
Or set a lynx to gnaw my heart away,
To save her from a needle-prick of pain,
Ay, or to please her? At their worth she rates
Her wooers--light as all-embracing air
Or universal sunshine. Luca, go
And tell Fiametta--rather, bid the lass
Hither herself.
[Exit Luca.]
He comes to pay me homage,
As would his royal father, if he pleased
To visit Naples; yet she too shall see him.
She is part of all I think, of all I am;
She is myself, no less than yon bright dream
Fixed in immortal beauty on the canvas.

Enter FIAMETTA.

FIAMETTA.
My lord, you called me?

RIBERA.
When thy mistress wakes,
Array her richly, that she be prepared
To come before the Prince.

FIAMETTA.
Sir, she hath risen,
And only waits me with your lordship's leave,
To cross the street unto St. Francis' church.

RIBERA (musingly).
With such slight escort? Nay, this troubles me.
Only the Strada's width? The saints forbid
That I should thwart her holy exercise!
Myself will go. I cannot. Bid her muffle,
Like our Valencian ladies, her silk mantle
About her face and head.
[At a sign from RIBERA, exit FIAMETTA.]
Yes, God will bless her.
What should I fear? I will make sure her beauty
Is duly masked.
[He goes toward the casement.]
Ay, there she goes--the mantle,
Draped round the stately head, discloses naught
Save the live jewel of the eye. Unless one guessed
From the majestic grace and proud proportions,
She might so pass through the high thoroughfares.
Ah, one thick curl escapes from its black prison.
Alone in Naples, wreathed with rays of gold,
Her crown of light betrays her. So, she's safe!

Enter LUCA.

LUCA.
A noble gentleman of Spain awaits
The master's leave to enter.

RIBERA.
Show him in.
[Exit LUCA. RIBERA draws the curtain before his picture of
"Jacob's Dream."]

RIBERA.
A gentleman of Spain! Perchance the Prince
Sends couriers to herald his approach,
Or craves a lon