Rome.—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 showingThy 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 haveWhen I am very happy. Did I sigh? [Sighing.

ALESSANDRA.Thou didst. Thou art not well. Thou hast indulgedToo much of late, and I am vexed to see it.Late hours and wine, Castiglione,—theseWill ruin thee! thou art already altered—Thy looks are haggard—nothing so wears awayThe constitution as late hours and wine.

CASTIGLIONENothing, 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 dropThy riotous company, too—fellows low born—Ill suit the like with old Di Broglio’s heirAnd Alessandra’s husband.

CASTIGLIONE.I will drop them.

ALESSANDRA.Thou wilt—thou must. Attend thou also moreTo thy dress and equipage—they are over plainFor thy lofty rank and fashion—much dependsUpon appearances.

CASTIGLIONE.I’ll see to it.

ALESSANDRA.Then see to it!—pay more attention, Sir,To a becoming carriage—much thou wantestIn dignity.

CASTIGLIONE.Much, much, oh much I wantIn proper dignity.

ALESSANDRAThou mockest me, sir!

CASTIGLIONESweet, gentle Lalage!

ALESSANDRA.Heard I aright?I speak to him—he speaks of Lalage!Sir Count!What, art thou dreaming? he’s not well!What ails thee, Sir?

CASTIGLIONECousin! 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!

DI BROGLIO.My son, I’ve news for thee!—hey?—what’s the matter?

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 expectedHourly in Rome—Politian, Earl of Leicester!We’ll have him at the wedding. ’Tis his first visitTo the imperial city.

ALESSANDRA.What! PolitianOf Britain, Earl of Leicester?

DI BROGLIO.The same, my love.We’ll have him at the wedding. A man quite youngIn years, but grey in fame. I have not seen him,But Rumour speaks of him as of a prodigyPre-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 philosophySo deep abstruse he has not mastered it.Learned as few are learned.

ALESSANDRA.’Tis very strange!I have known men have seen PolitianAnd sought his company. They speak of himAs 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 outFrom common passions.

DI BROGLIO.Children, we disagree.Let us go forth and taste the fragrant airOf the garden. Did I dream, or did I hearPolitian was a melancholy man? [Exeunt.