Fulvia - Part 1
Welcome, ye shades of summer eve, that close
My day among the tongues of yonder town!
I would not pluck them out nor pin them down,
As vengeful Fulvia did with Cicero's—
Nor to mere petulance of speech assign
The cruel meed of his rare excellence—
Enough for me this stillness, and the sense
That they no longer vex these ears of mine;
I will not vent my rage on foolish lungs,
Nor, even in fancy, re-enact the deed
Wreak'd on the Roman, in the stress and need
Of a great anger; why should ribald songs
Scourge like impeaching eloquence? or why
Should either tax our needles for reply?
My day among the tongues of yonder town!
I would not pluck them out nor pin them down,
As vengeful Fulvia did with Cicero's—
Nor to mere petulance of speech assign
The cruel meed of his rare excellence—
Enough for me this stillness, and the sense
That they no longer vex these ears of mine;
I will not vent my rage on foolish lungs,
Nor, even in fancy, re-enact the deed
Wreak'd on the Roman, in the stress and need
Of a great anger; why should ribald songs
Scourge like impeaching eloquence? or why
Should either tax our needles for reply?
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