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Robert Browning's Andrea del Sarto Lucrezia del Sarto (For Your Dear Husband) My beloved husband, put away your plate of bread Or, beg you, then hand it to the puppies; the sun Has but an hour to make its mid-way trek, And here sit you etching pewter with crust, And smearing cheese and garnish with idle thumbs. Yeah, yes! Kiss me so. Then kiss me better To smother my lipsagain. Your artlessness is the thing that makes me smile so, dear, and not your kiss. No, I'll speak. And should you be so kind As to listen, you'll find me plainly spoken. Long night, in my bed, I turned and turned; As much as I'd suffered your voice while they Tumbled from your lips, I suffered them once More, and more new, fettered fast inside my mind! Enjoy, the night wore on, black, blank, and at last Thinned. But how you wear me! Tell me you shall continue to keep your promise to each one of the three: To me personally, to my own cousin, and to thee! I will inform you the way I mean: Do life's job, Honor your spouse, your term, and yourself If it disturbs you. However, be first a man; No--a husband--over all else. Inform me, 'Tis possibly better to honor yourself? My beloved husband, I've much in response to provide your final eve's soliloquy; So perhaps it shall suit you to gaze less Dumbly in my brow and more in my mouth although I so plainly speak. Your abilities don't waste themselves on me. Do not overlook it. I'm more certain of your skill than you May think. And so I'm less humored by The jagged errantry of a brain which once was sweet and sharp. My pride in you has waned. Pick, pick, select, but not paint! Well enough, you state we are all just but at God's Hands; 'Tis not God who participates down you, nor! Your works have touched heaven, but you're low; God, you think, delegate...