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Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing

Thy happiness!—what ails thee, cousin of mine?

Why didst thou sigh so deeply?

Cas. Did I sign?

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.)

Aless. 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.

Cas. (musing.) Nothing, fair cousin, nothing—not even deep

sorrow—

Wears it away like evil hours and wine.

I will amend.

Aless. 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.

Cas. I will drop them.

Aless. 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.

Cas. I'll see to it.

Aless. Then see to it!—pay more attention, sir,

To a becoming carriage—much thou wantest

In dignity.

Cas. Much, much, oh! much I want

In proper dignity.

Aless.(haughtily) Thou mockest me, sir!

Cas. (abstractedly.) Sweet, gentle Lalage!

Aless. 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?

Cas. (startling.) 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. 'Tis his first visit

To the imperial city.

Aless. What! Politian

Of Britain, Earl of Leicester?

Di Brog. The same, my love.

We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young

In years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,

But Rumour 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.

Aless. I have heard much of this Politian.

Gay, volatile and giddy—is he not?

And little given to thinking.

Di Brog. Far from it, love.

No branch, they say, of all philosophy

So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.

Learned as few are learned.

Aless. 'Tis 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.

Cas. 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 Brog. 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.)

II

ROME. 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 carelessly

upon a chair.

Lal. [Lalage] Jacinta! is it thou?

Jac. [Jacinta] (pertly.) Yes, Ma'am, I'm here.

Lal. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.

Sit down!—Let not my presence trouble you—

Sit down!—for I am humble, most humble.

Jac. (aside.) 'Tis 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. )

Lal. "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."