"Italy" ["My Last Duchess"] Robert Browning Tonya Howe Transcription, correction, editorial commentary, and markup Students and Staff at the University of Virginia Tonya Howe National Endowment for the Humanities Literature in Context
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Published by Literature in Context under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 Unported License "Italy" ["My Last Duchess"] Robert Browning Bells and Pomegranates. No. III. Dramatic Lyrics London Edward Moxon, Dover Street 1842 "My Last Duchess" was first printed in the third volume ("Dramatic Lyrics") of Bells and Pomegranates, an 8-part self-published collection, under the title "I. Italy." This was the first part of a longer piece in two parts called "Italy and France." It was first printed under its more familiar title in the 1849 collection Dramatic Romances and Lyrics. The poem is frequently anthologized as an example of a dramatic monologue. "Ferrara" is the poetic speaker--this is most likely meant to represent Alfonso II (1533-1598), the fifth duke of Ferrara. In the poem, he is speaking of his first wife Lucrezia de' Medici as he meditates on her portrait; Lucrezia died soon after their marriage under suspicious circumstances. Page images are provided courtesy of the Special Collections, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, VA. No. 3, p 4 English print single poem Ferrara, Italy

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 Numbered divs used. Library of Congress Name Authority File Library of Congress Classification Getty Thesaurus of Geographic Names Open Researcher and Contributor ID work begun on LIC edition BELLS AND POMEGRANATES. No. III.--DRAMATIC LYRICS. BY ROBERT BROWNING,AUTHOR OF "PARACELSUS." London: EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET. MDCCCXLII
ITALY AND FRANCE. I.--ITALY. ["My Last Duchess"] That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps "Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint "Must never hope to reproduce the faint "Half-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart . . how shall I say? . . too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace--all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good; but thanked Somehow . . I know not how . . as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this "Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, "Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, --E'en then would be some stooping; and I chuse Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat, The Count your Master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, Sir! Notice Neptune, tho', Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me.