The Private Thoughts of the Count of Tyrol,
as Related to Lucio, his Servant:
My trusted Lucio, my daughter lies
below yon pear tree. Distance will disguise
the drift of our close conversation, then,
and spare her gentle ear. And so, again
5 let us discuss her marriage. Do not cringe,
for on your steady service my hopes hinge.
So dour and drawn is my dear Barbara’s face,
I fear no dowry will persuade his grace
to wed her, bed her, rule with her some day
10 in Venice. For, as like as not, I’d say
her icy stare would freeze the burning flow
of magma. And if lava turn to snow
at her cool gaze, think how canals would fare!
She’d ruin the city-state beyond repair
15 with but a glance. Ah, loyal Lucio,
my trusted servant, never loath to go
where’er I send you, see you never wed
a wife who bears you daughters when instead
you might have sons who never pick your purse
20 for dowries though they look so dour a hearse
would bring more joy to those who saw it go
through dismal streets by night. O, Lucio!
O, would I had exposed her on a hill
when she—my longed-for Jack—was born a Jill
25 just like her legion sisters! One mistake
a man allows his mortal wife to make
with generous impunity. But five!
I should have buriéd the lot alive
or, Ugolino-like, devoured them all
30 when they were tender. Yet, when she was small
I little guessed I’d have to bribe some churl—
but, Lucio, I drift—Oh, yes—The girl,
my dearest joy—Faith! E’en the blossoms there
refuse to turn to pears under that stare
35 of hers, so cold it freezes time! I pray
you pardon me. Far more than I can say
I cherish Barbara, and will see her wed
no prince but one who’s excellently bred,
refined, and wealthy, worthy of a bride
40 so great as Tyrol’s daughter. Therefore I’d
delight to see her wed the King of France
or Spain. Yes Philip! Agh! Look there! That glance
again! So cold I’m sure that fiery Hell
would turn to ice if she should but—Ah, well,
45 good, Lucio, I drift again. Forgive
my raving. Faith, I doubt that she could live
in Spain or France, such distant, foreign lands,
so different from Austria. Demands
would e’er be made on her soft intellect
50 to understand the culture. Let’s protect
her gentle wits and turn our loving eye
toward—Italy, you say? Yes, truly, why
should some Italian not desire the hand
of her whom I love best? What’s that? Yes, hand
55
is what
I said, indeed. Why do you blink?
Ferrara? Worthy, yes, or so I think.
2003Ferrara? Worthy, yes, or so I think.
By Sarah Jett
Barbara and the Pears
The Count of Tyrol,looking grieved
<--Yon Pear Tree
A Lady Named Barbara from Austria, perhaps with the grieved
expression of her namesake
What they don't have enough of in Tyrol
A Castle in
Tyrol 
