Many thanks.
IPPOLITO.
Fra Bastian, I am growing tired of Rome, The old dead city, with the old dead people; Priests everywhere, like shadows on a wall, And morning, noon, and night the ceaseless sound Of convent bells.

I must be gone from here; Though Ovid somewhere says that Rome is worthy To be the dwelling-place of all the Gods, I must be gone from here.

To-morrow morning I start for Itri, and go thence by sea To join the Emperor, who is making war Upon the Algerines; perhaps to sink Some Turkish galleys, and bring back in chains The famous corsair.

Thus would I avenge The beautiful Gonzaga.
FRA SEBASTIANO.
An achievement Worthy of Charlemagne, or of Orlando.
Berni and Ariosto both shall add A canto to their poems, and describe you As Furioso and Innamorato.
Now I must say good-night.
IPPOLITO.
You must not go; First you shall sup with me.

My seneschal Giovan Andrea dal Borgo a San Sepolcro,-- I like to give the whole sonorous name, It sounds so like a verse of the Aeneid,-- Has brought me eels fresh from the Lake of Fondi, And Lucrine oysters cradled in their shells: These, with red Fondi wine, the Caecu ban That Horace speaks of, under a hundred keys Kept safe, until the heir of Posthumus Shall stain the pavement with it, make a feast Fit for Lucullus, or Fra Bastian even; So we will go to supper, and be merry.
FRA SEBASTIANO.
Beware! I Remember that Bolsena's eels And Vernage wine once killed a Pope of Rome! IPPOLITO.
'T was a French Pope; and then so long ago; Who knows ?--perhaps the story is not true.
IV.
BORGO DELLE VERGINE AT NAPLES Room in the Palace of JULIA GONZAGA.