The yearning of my heart, my sole desire, You would but see a man of fourscore years, With sunken eyes, burning like carbuncles, Who sits at table with his friends for hours, That like the sheaf of Joseph stands Cursing the Spaniards as a race of upright, While all the others bend and bow to it; The passion that torments me, and that breathes 60 Jews 80 MICHAEL ANGELO. MONK. Would it were. The Cardinals, And sentinelled with angels. I have just fled from it. It is be- Going in their gilt coaches to High leaguered Mass. MICHAEL ANGELO. Men do not go to Paradise in coaches. MONK. The catacombs, the convents, and the churches; The ceremonies of the Holy Week 90 Who went to Rome; you may have heard of him; His name was Luther; and you know what followed. [The convent bell rings. MONK, rising. In all their pomp, or, at the Epi- It is the convent bell; it rings for ves phany, The feast of the Santissimo Bambino At Ara Cœli. But I shall not see them. MICHAEL ANGELO. These pompous ceremonies of the Church Are but an empty show to him who knows The actors in them. Stay here in your convent, For he who goes to Rome may see too much. What would you further? MONK. I would see the painting Of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. MICHAEL ANGELO. pers. The smoke of incense and of altar I once had skill to fashion Life and |