Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold.

What female heart can gold despise? What cat's averse to fish?

All is not gold that glisteneth

I'm sitting here looking at a little gold key that the mayor of DeLand gave me in 2004. I enjoyed being there, and I thought the people were really nice, but it's a strange world when a charity stiffs you.

This was not the very finest quality of weaving with gold thread, of the kind that was being produced for the leading courts of the day by the Brussels workshops. Rather, it reflects the sort of medium-quality tapestries that the Florence workshops were producing at this time for use in the Medici palaces. Still, the pride they must have felt, knowing this would be destined to go to Como. Tapestry was such an important part of the theatrical presentation of the day. It was the whole stage set against which the formal side of life was acted out.