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 mes

sage.

Well, I will think of it.-I will not send it.

Now, prithee, leave me : hither doth come a person
With whom affairs of a most private nature

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 toward 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!

K

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, 'sdeath 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 theeLike an avenging spirit I'll follow thee,

Even unto death. Before those whom thou lovestBefore all Rome, I'll taunt thee, villain,—I'll taunt thee

Dost hear?—with cowardice! Thou wilt not fight me? Thou liest, thou shalt !

Cas.

[Exit.

Now this, indeed, is just!

Most righteous and most just, avenging Heaven!

OH, nothing earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of beauty's eye,
As in those gardens where the day

Springs from the gems of Circassy;—

* A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe, which appeared suddenly in the heavens; attained in a few days a brilliancy surpassing that of Jupiter; then as suddenly disappeared, and has never been seen since.

O, nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill,
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed,
That, like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell ;-
O, nothing of the dross of ours-
Yet all the beauty-all the flowers
That list our love, and deck our bowers—
Adorn yon world afar, afar-

The wandering star.

'Twas a sweet time for Nesace; for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns-a temporary rest— An oasis in desert of the blest.

Away, away, 'mid seas of rays that roll Empyrean splendour o'er th' unchainèd soul— The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense) Can struggle to its destined eminence— To distant spheres, from time to time she rode, And late to ours, the favour'd one of God; But, now, the ruler of an anchor'd realm, She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely earth, Whence sprang the “idea of beauty” into birth