Up at a Villa—Down in the City

2Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare,

3The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city square;

4Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there!

5Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!

6There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast;

7While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast.

8Well now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull

9Just on a mountain edge as bare as the creature's skull,

10Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull!

11 — I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair's turned wool.

12But the city, oh the city — the square with the houses! Why?

13They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there's something to take the eye!

14Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry;

15You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by;

16Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high;

17And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly.

18What of a villa? Tho' winter be over in March, by rights,

19'Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights:

20You've the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen steam and wheeze,

21And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive trees.

22Is it better in May, I ask you? You've summer all at once;

23In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns,

24'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well,

25The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell

26Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell.

27Is it ever hot in the square? There's a fountain to spout and splash!

28In the shade it sings and springs; in the shine such foam-bows flash

29On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash

30Round the lady atop in her conch — fifty gazers do not abash,

31Tho' all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of sash.

32All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger,

33Except yon cypress that points like death's lean lifted forefinger.

34Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix i' the corn and mingle,

35Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle.

36Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill,

37And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill.

38Enough of the seasons, — I spare you the months of the fever and chill.

39Ere you open your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin:

40No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in:

41You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin.

42By and by there's the travelling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth;

43Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath.

44At the post-office such a scene-picture — the new play, piping hot!

45And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot.

46Above it, behold the Archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes,

47And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of the Duke's!

48Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so,

49Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, St. Jerome and Cicero,

50"And moreover" (the sonnet goes rhyming), "the skirts of St. Paul has

51 reached,

52Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he

53 preached."

54Noon strikes, — here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling and smart.

55With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart!

56_Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum,tootle-te-tootle_ the fife;

57No keeping one's haunches still: it's the greatest pleasure in life.

58But bless you, it's dear — it's dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate.

59They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing the gate

60It's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city!

61Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but still — ah, the pity, the pity!

62Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and sandals,

63And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow candles;

64One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles,

65And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention of scandals:

66_Bang-whang-whang_ goes the drum,tootle-te-tootle_ the fife.

67Oh, a day in the city square, there is no such pleasure in life!