When at last it came he spoke, his voice silvery and his accents mincing.
"Lord of Pesaro; I demand a boon.

He who for years has suffered the ignominy of the motley is at last revealed to us as a poet of such magnitude of soul and richness of expression that he would not suffer by comparison with the great Bojardo or tim greater Virgil.

Let him be stripped for ever of that hideous garb he wears, and let him be treated, hereafter, with the dignity his high gifts deserve.

Thus shall the day come when Pesaro will take honour in calling him her son." Loud and long was the applause that succeeded his words, and when at last it had died down, the Lord Giovanni proved equal to the occasion, like the consummate actor that he was.
"I would," said he, "that these high gifts, of which to-night he has afforded proof, could have been employed upon a worthier subject.

I fear me that since you have heard his epic you will be prone to overestimate the deed of which it tells the story.