R O M E.�� A hall in a Palace. ALESSANDRA and CASTIGLIONE

         ALESSANDRA. Thou art sad, Castiglione.
         CASTIGLIONE.                                             Sad!�� not I.
Oh, I�m the happiest, happiest  man in Rome!
A few days more, thou knowest, my Alessandra,
Will make thee mine. Oh, I am very happy!
         ALESSANDRA. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing
Thy happiness! �� what ails thee, cousin of mine?
Why didst thou sigh so deeply?
         CASTIGLIONE.                  Did I sigh?
I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion,
A silly�� a most silly fashion I have
When  I am very happy. Did I sigh? [sighing.]
          ALESSANDRA. Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulged
Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it.
Late hours and wine, Castiglione, �� these
Will ruin thee! thou art already altered��
Thy looks are haggard�� nothing so wears away
The constitution as late hours and wine.
         CASTIGLIONE [musing.] Nothing, fair cousin, nothing�� not even deep sorrow��
Wears it away like evil hours and wine.
I will amend.
          ALESSANDRA. Do it! I would have thee drop
Thy riotous company, too�� fellows low born��
Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio�s heir
And Alessandra�s husband.
       CASTIGLIONE.             I will drop them.
       ALESSANDRA. Thou wilt�� thou must. Attend thou also more
To thy dress and equipage�� they are over plain
For thy lofty rank and fashion�� much depends
Upon appearances.
         CASTIGLIONE. I�ll see to it.
         ALESSANDRA. Then see to it! �� pay more attention, sir,
To a becoming carriage�� much thou wantest
In dignity.
        CASTIGLIONE. Much, much, oh much I want
In  proper dignity.
         ALESSANDRA. [haughtily.] Thou mockest me, sir!
        CASTIGLIONE. [abstractedly.] Sweet, gentle Lalage!
        ALESSANDRA.                                                               Heard I aright?
I speak to him�� he speaks of Lalage!
Sir Count! [places her hand on his shoulder.] what art thou dreaming? he�s not well!
What ails thee, sir?
         CASTIGLIONE. [starting.] Cousin! fair cousin! �� madam!
I crave thy pardon�� indeed I am not well��
Your hand from off my shoulder, if you please.
This air is most oppressive! �� Madam�� the Duke!

                                        ENTER DI BROGLIO

         DI BROGLIO. My son, I�ve news for thee! �� hey? �� what�s the
                  matter? [observing ALESSANDRA.]
I� the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione! kiss her,
You dog! and make it up, I say, this minute!
I�ve news for you both. Politian is expected
Hourly in Rome�� Politian, Earl of Leicester!
We�ll have him at the wedding. �T is his first visit
To the imperial city.
        ALESSANDRA. What! Politian
Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?
        DI BROGLIO.                 The same, my love.
We�ll have him at the wedding. A man quiet  young
In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,
But Rumor speaks of him as of a prodigy
Pre‑eminent in arts and arms, and wealth,
And high descent. We�ll have him at the wedding.
       ALESSANDRA. I have heard much of this Politian.
Gay, volatile, and giddy�� is he not?
And little given to thinking.
         DI BROGLIO.              Far from it, love.
No branch, they say, of all philosophy
So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.
Learned has a few are learned.
          ALESSANDRA.                �T is very strange!
I have known men have seen Politian
And sought his company. They speak of him
As of one who entered madly into life,
Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.
         CASTIGLIONE. Ridiculous! Now I have seen Politian
And know him well�� nor learned nor mirthful he.
He is a dreamer and a man shut out
From common passions.
         DI BROGLIO.          Children, we disagree.
Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air
Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear
Politian was a melancholy man?
                                                                                       EXEUNT.

A lady�s apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. LALAGE, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand mirror. In the background, JACINTA (a servant maid) leans care�lessly upon a chair.

           LALAGE. Jacinta! is it thou?
          JACINTA. [pertly.] Yes, Ma�am, I�m here.
          LALAGE. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.
Sit down!�� let no my presence  trouble you��
Sit down! �� for I am humble, most humble.
         JACINTA. [aside.]                                  �T is time.
                                                   [JACINTA seats herself in a side-long
                                                   manner upon the chair, resting her
                                                   elbows upon the back, and regarding
                                                   her mistress with a contemptuous look.
                                                   LALAGE, continues to read.]
          LALAGE. �It in another climate, so he said,
Bore a bright golden flower, but not i� this soil!�
                                  [pauses��turns over some leaves, and  resumes.]
�No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower��
But Ocean ever to refresh mankind
Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind.�
Oh, beautiful! �� most beautiful! �� how like
To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven!
Oh happy land! [pauses.] She died! �� the maiden died!
O still more happy maiden who couldst die!
Jacinta!
          [JACINTA returns no answer, and LALAGE presently resumes.]
              Again! �� a similar tale
Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea!
Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play��
�She died full young��� one Bossola answers him��
�I think not so�� her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many��� Ah, luckless lady!
Jacinta! [Still not answer.]
          Here�s a far sterner story
But like�� oh, very like in its despair��
Of that Egyptian queen, winning so easily
A thousand hearts�� losing at length her own.
She died. Thus endeth the history�� and her maids
Lean over her and weep�� two gentle maids
With gentle names�� Eiros and Charmion!
Rainbow and Dove! ������Jacinta!
        JACINTA. [pettishly.]                Madam, what is it?
        LALAGE. Wilt thou, my good Jacinta, be so kind
As go down in the library and bring me
The Holy Evangelists.
       JACINTA.               Pshaw!                                                [Exit.]
       LALAGE.                              If there be balm
For the wounded spirit in Gilead it is there!
Dew in the night‑time of my bitter trouble
Will there be found���dew sweeter far than that
Which hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill.�
                       [Re‑enter JACINTA, and throws a volume on the  table.]
       JACINTA. There, ma�am,�s the book. Indeed she is very troublesome. [aside.]
      LALAGE. [astonished.] What didst thou say, Jacinta? Have I done aught   
To grieve thee or to vex thee? �� I am sorry.
For thou hast served me long and ever been
Trustworthy and respectful. [resumes her reading.]
       JACINTA.                   I can�t believe
She has any more jewels�� no�� no�� she gave me all.      [aside.]
       LALAGE. What didst thou say, Jacinta? Now I bethink me
Thou hast not spoken lately of thy wedding.
How fares good Ugo? �� and when is it to be?
Can I do aught? �� is there no farther aid
Thou needest, Jacinta?
         JACINTA.               Is there no farther aid!
That�s meant for me. [aside.] I�m sure, Madam, you need not
Be always throwing those jewels in my teeth.
         LALAGE. Jewels! Jacinta, �� now indeed, Jacinta,
I thought not of the jewels.
         JACINTA.                  Oh! perhaps not!
But then I might have sworn it. After all,
There's Ugo says the ring is only paste,
For he�s sure the Count Castiglione never
Would have given a real diamond to such as you;
And at the best I�m certain, Madam you cannot
Have use for jewels now. But I might have sworn it.             [Exit.]
                                  [LALAGE bursts into tears and leans her head
                                  upon the table��after a short pause raises it.]
         LALAGE. Poor Lalage! �� and is it come to this?
Thy servant maid! �� but courage! ���t is but a viper
Whom thou hast cherished to sting thee to the soul!
             [Taking up the mirror.]
Ha! here at least�s a friend�� too much a friend
 In earlier days�� a friend will not deceive thee.
Fair mirror and true! now tell me (for thou canst)
A tale�� a pretty tale�� and heed thou not
Though it be rife with woe. It answers me.
It speaks of sunken eyes, and wasted cheeks,
And Beauty long deceased�� remembers me
Of Joy departed�� Hope, the Seraph Hope,
Inurned and entombed! �� now, in a tone
Low, sad, and solemn, but most audible,
Whispers of early grave untimely yawning
For ruined maid. Fair mirror and true! �� thou liest not!
Thou hast no end to gain�� no heart to break��
Castiglione lied who said he loved��
Thou true�� he false! ��false! �� false!
                                 [While she speaks, a MONK enters her
                                 apartment, and approaches unobserved.]
          MONK.                                       Refuge thou hast,
Sweet daughter! in Heaven. Think of eternal things!
Give up thy soul to penitence, and pray!
          LALAGE. [arising hurriedly.] I cannot pray! �� My soul is at war with God!
The frightful sounds of merriment below
Disturb my senses�� go! I cannot pray��
The sweet airs from the garden worry me!�
Thy presence grieves me�� go! �� thy priestly raiment
Fills me with dread�� thy ebony crucifix
With horror and awe!
          MONK             Think of thy precious soul!
          LALAGE. Think of my early days! �� think of my father
And mother in Heaven! think of our quiet home,
And the rivulet that ran before the door!
Think of my little sisters! �� think of them!
And think of me! �� think of my trusting love
And confidence�� his vows ��my ruin�� think�� think
Of my unspeakable misery! ����begone!
Yet stay! yet stay! �� what was it thou saidst of prayer
And penitence? Didst thou not speak of faith
And vows before the throne?
        MONK.                            I did.
        LALAGE.                                �T is well.
There is a vow were fitting should be made��
A sacred vow, imperative, and urgent,
A solemn vow!
          MONK.    Daughter, this zeal is well!
          LALAGE. Father, this zeal is anything but well!
Hast thou a crucifix fit for this thing?
A crucifix whereon to register 
This sacred vow ?              [He hands her is own.]
                              Not that!��Oh! no!��no!�� no�� ! [shuddering.]                                              
Not that! Not that�� I tell thee, holy man,
Thy raiments and thy ebony cross affright me!
Stand back! I have a crucifix myself,��
I have a crucifix! Methinks �t were fitting.
The deed�� the vow�� the symbol of the deed��
And the deed�s register should tally, father!
                                     [Draws a cross‑handled dagger and raises it on high.]
Behold the cross wherewith a vow like mine
Is written in Heaven!
          MONK.            Thy words are madness, daughter,
And speak a purpose unholy�� thy lips are livid��
Thine eyes are wild�� tempt not the wrath divine!
Pause ere too late! �� oh, be not�� be not rash!
Swear not the oath�� oh, swear it not!
        LALAGE.                                       �T is sworn!

      The gardens of a palace�� Moonlight. LALAGE and POLITIAN

       LALAGE. And dost thou speak of love
To me, Politian?�� dost thou speak of love
To Lalage? �� ah, wo�� ah, wo is me!
This mockery is most cruel�� most cruel indeed!
       POLITIAN. Weep not! oh, sob not thus! �� thy bitter tears
Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage��
Be comforted! I know�� I know it all,
And still I speak of love. Look at me, brightest,
And beautiful Lalage! �� turn here thine eyes!
Thou askest me if I could speak of love,
Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen.
Thou askest me that�� and thus I answer thee��
Thus on my bended  knee I answer thee.                    [kneeling.]
Sweet Lalage, I love  thee��love thee��love thee;
Thro� good and ill�� thro� weal and woe I love thee;
Not mother, with her first-born on her knee,
Thrills with intenser love than I for thee.
Not on God�s altar, in any time or clime,
Burned there a holier fire than burneth now
Within my spirit for thee. And do I love?                           [arising.]
Even for thy woes I love thee�� even for thy woes��
Thy beauty and thy woes.
         LALAGE.                  Alas, proud Earl,
Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me!
How, in thy father�s halls, among the maidens
Pure and reproachless, of thy princely line,
Could the dishonored Lalage abide?
Thy wife, and with a tainted memory��
My seared and blighted name, how would it tally
With the ancestral honors of thy house,
And with thy glory?
       POLITIAN.     Speak not to me of glory!
I hate�� I loathe the name; I do abhor
The unsatisfactory and ideal thing.
Art thou not Lalage and I Politian?
Do I not love�� art thou not beautiful��
What need we more? Ha! glory! �� now speak not of it.
By all I hold most sacred and most solemn��
By all my wishes now�� my fears hereafter��
By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven��
There is no deed I would more glory in,
Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory
And trample it under foot. What matters it��
What matters it, my fairest, and my best,
That we go down unhonored and forgotten
Into the dust�� so we descend together.
Descend together�� and then�� and then perchance��
       LALAGE. Why dost thou pause, Politian?
       POLITIAN.                                                    And then perchance
Arise together, Lalage, and roam
The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,
And still��������
        LALAGE. Why dost thou pause, Politian?
       POLITIAN. And still together�� together.
       LALAGE.                                                Now, Earl of Leicester!
Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts
I feel thou lovest me truly.
         POLITIAN.                Oh, Lalage!  [throwing himself upon 
                                                                 his knee.]
And thou lovest me?
         LALAGE.          Hist! hush! within the gloom
Of yonder trees methought a figure past��
A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless��
Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless.
                                                                         [Walks across and returns.]
I was mistaken���t was but a giant bough
Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian!
          POLITIAN. My Lalage�� my love! why art thou moved?
Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience�self,
Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,
Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind
Is chilly�� and these melancholy boughs
Throw over all things a gloom.
         LALAGE                           Politian!
Thou speakest to me of love. Knowest thou the land
With which all tongues are busy�� a land new found��
Miraculously found by one of Genoa��
A thousand leagues within the golden west?
A fairy land of flowers, and fruit, and sunshine,
And crystal lakes, and over‑arching forests,
And mountains, around whose towering summits the winds
Of Heaven untrammelled flow�� which air to breathe
Is Happiness now, and will be Freedom hereafter
In days that are to come?
          POLITIAN.                O, wilt thou�� wilt thou
Fly to that Paradise�� my Lalage, wilt thou
Fly thither with me? There Care shall be forgotten,
And Sorrow shall be no more, and Eros be all.
And life shall then be mine, for I will live
For thee, and in thine eyes�� and thou shalt be
No more a mourner�� but the radiant Joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all;��oh, wilt thou�� wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me?
       LALAGE.          A deed is to be done��
Castiglione lives!
      POLITIAN.     And he shall die!                                          [Exit.]
      LALAGE. [after a pause.] and�� he�� shall�� die! �� alas!
Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?
Where I am�� what was it he said? �� Politian!
Thou art not gone�� thou art not gone, Politian.
I feel thou art not gone�� yet dare not look,
Lest I behold thee not; thou couldst not go
With those words upon thy lips�� O, speak to me!
And let me hear thy voice�� one word�� one word,
To say thou art not gone, �� one little sentence,
To say how thou dost scorn�� how thou dost hate
My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou art not gone��
O speak to me! I knew thou wouldst not go!
I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, durst not go.
Villain, thou art not gone�� thou mockest me!
And thus I clutch thee�� thus! ������ He is gone, he is gone��
Gone ��gone. Where am I? ���������t is well���t is very well!
So that the blade be keen�� the blow be sure,
�T is well, �t is very well�� alas! alas!                                        [Exit.]

        POLITIAN. This weakness grows upon me. I am faint,
And much I fear me ill�� it will not do
To die ere I have lived! �� Stay�� stay thy hand,
O Azrael, yet awhile! �� Prince of the Powers
Of Darkness and the Tomb, O pity me!
O pity me! let me not perish now,
In the budding of my Paradisal Hope!
Give me to live yet�� yet a little while:
�T is I who pray for life�� I who so late
Demanded but to die!�� what sayeth the Count?

         BALDAZZAR. That knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud
Between the Earl Politian and himself,
He doth decline your cartel.
         POLITIAN.                             What didst thou say?
What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar?
With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes
Laden from yonder bowers! �� a fairer day,
Or one more worthy Italy, methinks
No mortal eyes have seen! ��what said the Count?
         BALDAZZAR. That he, Castiglione, not being aware
Of any feud existing, or any cause
Of quarrel between your lordship and himself
Cannot accept the challenge.
        POLITIAN.                       It is most true��
All this is very true. When saw you, sir,
When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid
Ungenial Britain which we left so lately,
A heaven so calm as this�� so utterly free
From the evil taint of clouds? �� and he did say?
          BALDAZZAR. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:
The Count Castiglione will not fight,
Having no cause for quarrel.
         POLITIAN.                     Now this is true��
All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar,
And I have not forgotten it�� thou �lt do me
A piece of service; wilt thou go back and say
Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester,
Hold him a villain? �� thus much, I prythee, say
Unto the Count�� it is exceeding just
He should have cause for quarrel.
          BALDAZZAR.                        My lord! �� my friend! ��
          POLITIAN. [aside.]�T is he�� he comes himself ! [aloud.] Thou reasonest well.
I know what thou wouldst say�� not send the message��
Well! �� I will think of it�� I will not send it.
Now prythee, leave me�� hither doth come a person
With whom affairs of a most private nature
I would adjust.
           BALDAZZAR. I go��  to‑morrow we meet,
Do we not? �� at the Vatican.
           POLITIAN.                      At the Vatican.     [Exit BALDAZZAR.]

            CASTIGLIONE. The Earl of Leicester here!
            POLITIAN. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,
Dost thou not? that I am here.
            CASTIGLIONE.            My lord, some strange,
Some singular mistake�� misunderstanding��
Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged
Thereby, in heat of anger, to address
Some words most unaccountable, in writing,
To me, Castiglione; the bearer being
Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware
Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing,
Having given thee no offence. Ha! �� am I right?
�T was a mistake? �� undoubtedly�� we all
Do err at times.
         POLITIAN. Draw, villain, and prate no more!
         CASTIGLIONE. Ha! �� draw? �� and villain? have at thee then at once,
Proud Earl!                                                                           [draws.]
        POLITIAN. [drawing.] Thus to the expiatory tomb,
Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee
In the name of Lalage!
        CASTIGLIONE. [letting fall his sword and recoiling to the extremity of the stage.]
                                    of Lalage!
Hold off�� thy sacred hand�� avaunt I say!
Avaunt�� I will not fight thee�� indeed I dare not.
        POLITIAN. Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count?
Shall I be baffled thus? �� now this is well;
Didst say thou darest not? Ha!
        CASTIGLIONE.                  I dare not��dare not��
 Hold off thy hand�� with that beloved name
So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee��
I cannot�� dare not
        POLITIAN.      Now by my halidom
I do believe thee! �� coward, I do believe thee!
        CASTIGLIONE. Ha! �� coward! �� this may not be!
                                        [Clutches his sword and staggers towards 
                                        POLITIAN, but his purpose is changed
                                        before reaching him, and he falls upon his
                                        knee at the feet of the Earl.]
                                                                                    Alas! my lord,
It is�� it is�� most true. In such a cause
I am the veriest coward. O pity me!
        POLITIAN. [greatly softened.] Alas! �� I do�� indeed I pity thee.
        CASTIGLIONE. And Lalage��
        POLITIAN.                               Scoundrel!��arise and die!
        CASTIGLIONE. It needeth not be�� thus�� thus�� O let me die
Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting
That in this deep humiliation I perish.
For in the fight I will not raise a hand
Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home��[baring his bosom.]
Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon��
Strike home. I will not fight thee.
         POLITIAN.                            Now�s Death and Hell!
Am I not�� am I not sorely�� grievously tempted
To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir!
Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare
For public insult in the streets�� before
The eyes of the citizens. I�ll follow thee��
Like an avenging spirit I�ll follow thee
Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovest��
Before all Rome, I�ll taunt thee, villain�� I�ll taunt thee,
Dost hear? with cowardice�� thou wilt not fight me?
Thou lies! thou shalt!                                                             [Exit.]
          CASTIGLIONE. Now this indeed is just!
Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!