ANNECCA.
No, no! I have no wish and no regret.
I speak for you. His is a sovereign soul,
And all his passions loom in huger shape
Than lesser men’s. He brooks no rivalry
With his own offspring, and toward me his love
Hath ebbed, I mark, to a more even flow,
While deeper, stronger, sets the powerful current
Toward you alone. Consider this, Maria,
Nor wantonly discrown that sacred head
Of your young love to wreathe some curled boy’s brow.
MARI&.
Think you his wish were that I should not wed?
ANNICCA.
Nay, that I say not, for his pride aspires
To see you nobly mated.
MARIA (after a pause).
Him will I wed
Whose name is ancient, fair, and honorable,
As the Ribera’s is illustrious—
Him who no less than I will venerate
That white, divine old head. In art his pupil,
In love his son ; tender as I to watch,
And to delay the slow extinguishing
Of that great light.
