Dost thou think So meanly of this Michael Angelo As to imagine he would let thee serve, When he is free from service?
Take this purse, Two thousand crowns in gold.
URBINO.
Two thousand crowns! MICHAEL ANGELO.
Ay, it will make thee rich.

Thou shalt not die A beggar in a hospital.
URBINO.
Oh, Master! MICHAEL ANGELO.
I cannot have them with me on the journey That I am undertaking.

The last garment That men will make for me will have no pockets.
URBINO, kissing the hand of MICHAEL ANGELO.
My generous master! MICHAEL ANGELO.
Hush! URBINO.
My Providence! MICHAEL ANGELO.
Not a word more.

Go now to bed, old man.
Thou hast served Michael Angelo.

Remember, Henceforward thou shalt serve no other master.
VII THE OAKS OF MONTE LUCA MICHAEL ANGELO, alone in the woods.
MICHAEL ANGELO.
How still it is among these ancient oaks! Surges and undulations of the air Uplift the leafy boughs, and let them fall With scarce a sound.