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