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Of quarrel between your lordship and himself,

Cannot accept the challenge.

Pol. 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?

Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:

The Count Castiglione will not fight,

Having no cause for quarrel.

Pol. 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.

Bal. My lord!—my friend!-

Pol. (aside.) 'Tis 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.

Bal. I go—to-morrow we meet,

Do we not?—at the Vatican.

Pol. At the Vatican. (exit

Bal.)

Enter Castigilone.

Cas. The Earl of Leicester here!

Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,

Dost thou not? that I am here.

Cas. 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?

'Twas a mistake?—undoubtedly—we all

Do err at times.

Pol. Draw, villain, and prate no more!

Cas. Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once,

Proud Earl! (draws.)

Pol. (drawing.) Thus to the expiatory tomb,

Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee

In the name of Lalage!

Cas. (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.

Pol. 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!

Cas. 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.

Pol. Now by my halidom

I do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee!

Cas. 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!

Pol. (greatly softened.) Alas!—I do—indeed I pity thee.

Cas. And Lalage-

Pol. Scoundrel!—arise and die!

Cas. 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.

Pol. 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 liest! thou shalt! (exit.)

Cas. Now this indeed is just!

Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!

{In the book there is a gap in numbering the notes between 12 and 29.

—ED}

NOTE

29. Such portions of "Politian" as are known to the public first saw the light of publicity in the "Southern Literary Messenger" for December, 1835, and January,