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 grey in fame. I have not seen him, But Rumour 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 a man 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.) II ROME. A Lady’s apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden. Lalage, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and a hand mirror. In the background Jacinta (a servant maid) leans carelessly upon a chair. Lal. [Lalage] Jacinta! is it thou? Jac. [Jacinta] (pertly.) Yes, Ma’am, I’m here. Lal. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting. Sit down!—Let not my presence trouble you— Sit down!—for I am humble, most humble. Jac. (aside.) ’Tis time. (Jacinta seats herself in a side-long manner upon the chair, resting her elbows upon the back, and regarding her mistress with a contemptuous look. Lalage continues to read. ) Lal. “It in another climate, so he said, Bore a bright golden flower, but not i’ this soil!” (pauses—turns over some leaves, and resumes) No lingering winters there, nor snow, nor shower— But Ocean ever to refresh mankind Breathes the shrill spirit of the western wind.” O, beautiful!—most beautiful—how like To what my fevered soul doth dream of Heaven! O happy land (pauses) She died!—the maiden died! A still more happy maiden who couldst die! Jacinta! (Jacinta returns no answer, and Lalage presently resumes.) Again!—a similar tale Told of a beauteous dame beyond the sea! Thus speaketh one Ferdinand in the words of the play— “She died full young”—one Bossola answers him— “I think not so—her infelicity Seemed to have years too many”—Ah luckless lady!