The Suburbs. Politian Alone

POLITIAN.This weakness grows upon me. I am faint,And much I fear me ill—it will not doTo die ere I have lived!—Stay—stay thy hand,O Azrael, yet awhile!—Prince of the PowersOf 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:’Tis I who pray for life—I who so lateDemanded but to die!—what sayeth the Count?

BALDAZZAR.That, knowing no cause of quarrel or of feudBetween 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 comesLaden from yonder bowers!—a fairer day,Or one more worthy Italy, methinksNo mortal eyes have seen!—what said the Count?

BALDAZZAR.That he, Castiglione, not being awareOf any feud existing, or any causeOf 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 frigidUngenial Britain which we left so lately,A heaven so calm as this—so utterly freeFrom the evil taint of clouds?—and he did say?

BALDAZZAR.No more, my Lord, than I have told you, SirThe 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 meA piece of service; wilt thou go back and sayUnto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester,Hold him a villain?—thus much, I pr’ythee, sayUnto the Count—it is exceeding justHe should have cause for quarrel.

BALDAZZAR.My lord!—my friend!——

POLITIAN’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 pr’ythee, leave me—hither doth come a personWith whom affairs of a most private natureI would adjust.

BALDAZZAR.I go—to-morrow we meet,Do we not?—at the Vatican.

POLITIAN.At the Vatican.

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 urgedThereby, in heat of anger, to addressSome words most unaccountable, in writing,To me, Castiglione; the bearer beingBaldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am awareOf nothing which might warrant thee in this thing,Having given thee no offence. Ha!—am I right?’Twas a mistake?—undoubtedly—we allDo err at times.

POLITIAN.Draw, villain, and prate no more!

CASTIGLIONE.Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once,Proud Earl!

POLITIANThus to the expiatory tomb,Untimely sepulchre, I do devote theeIn the name of Lalage!

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 nameSo fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee—I cannot—dare not.

POLITIAN.Now by my halidomI do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee!

CASTIGLIONE.Ha!—coward!—this may not be!

Alas! my Lord,It is—it is—most true. In such a causeI am the veriest coward. O pity me!

POLITIANAlas!—I do—indeed I pity thee.

CASTIGLIONE.And Lalage——

POLITIAN.Scoundrel!—arise and die!

CASTIGLIONE.It needeth not be—thus—thus—O let me dieThus on my bended knee. It were most fittingThat in this deep humiliation I perish.For in the fight I will not raise a handAgainst thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home—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 temptedTo take thee at thy word? But mark me, Sir,Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepareFor public insult in the streets—beforeThe eyes of the citizens. I’ll follow thee—Like an avenging spirit I’ll follow theeEven 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.

CASTIGLIONE.Now this indeed is just!Most righteous, and most just, avenging Heaven!