I.

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!

_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 sigh? 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 of 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!

_Cos. (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.(starting_). 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 gray in fame. I have not seen him, But Rumor 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 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._)