I am sick, sick, sick, even unto death,
  Of the hollow and high-sounding vanities
  Of the populous Earth! Bear with me yet awhile! We have been boys together—schoolfellows—
  And now are friends—yet shall not be so long—
  For in the eternal city thou shalt do me
  A kind and gentle office, and a Power—
  A Power august, benignant and supreme—
  Shall then absolve thee of all further duties
  Unto thy friend. Bal. Thou speakest a fearful riddle
  I will not understand. Pol. Yet now as Fate
  Approaches, and the Hours are breathing low,
  The sands of Time are changed to golden grains,
  And dazzle me, Baldazzar. Alas! alas! I cannot die, having within my heart
  So keen a relish for the beautiful
  As hath been kindled within it. Methinks the air
  Is balmier now than it was wont to be—
  Rich melodies are floating in the winds—
  A rarer loveliness bedecks the earth—
  And with a holier lustre the quiet moon
  Sitteth in Heaven.—Hist! hist! thou canst not say
  Thou hearest not now, Baldazzar? Bal. Indeed I hear not. Pol. Not hear it!—listen now!—listen!—the faintest sound
  And yet the sweetest that ear ever heard! A lady’s voice!—and sorrow in the tone! Baldazzar, it oppresses me like a spell! Again!—again!—how solemnly it falls
  Into my heart of hearts! that eloquent voice
  Surely I never heard—yet it were well
  Had I but heard it with its thrilling tones
  In earlier days! Bal. I myself hear it now. Be still!—the voice, if I mistake not greatly,
  Proceeds from yonder lattice—which you may see
  Very plainly through the window—it belongs,
  Does it not? unto this palace of the Duke. The singer is undoubtedly beneath
  The roof of his Excellency—and perhaps
  Is even that Alessandra of whom he spoke
  As the betrothed of Castiglione,
  His son and heir. Pol. Be still!—it comes again! Voice        “And is thy heart so strong
  (very faintly)   As for to leave me thus
              Who hath loved thee so long
              In wealth and woe among? And is thy heart so strong
              As for to leave me thus? Say nay—say nay!”
      Bal. The song is English, and I oft have heard it
  In merry England—never so plaintively—
  Hist! hist! it comes again! Voice            “Is it so strong
  (more loudly)    As for to leave me thus
              Who hath loved thee so long
              In wealth and woe among? And is thy heart so strong
              As for to leave me thus? Say nay—say nay!”
      Bal. ’Tis hushed and all is still! Pol. All is not still! Bal. Let us go down. Pol. Go down, Baldazzar, go! Bal. The hour is growing late—the Duke awaits use—
  Thy presence is expected in the hall
  Below. What ails thee, Earl Politian? Voice           “Who hath loved thee so long
  (distinctly)        In wealth and woe among,
                          And is thy heart so strong? Say nay—say nay!”
      Bal. Let us descend!—’tis time. Politian, give
  These fancies to the wind. Remember, pray,
  Your bearing lately savored much of rudeness
  Unto the Duke. Arouse thee! and remember
      Pol. Remember? I do. Lead on! I do remember. (going.) Let us descend. Believe me I would give,
  Freely would give the broad lands of my earldom
  To look upon the face hidden by yon lattice—
  “To gaze upon that veiled face, and hear
  Once more that silent tongue.”
      Bal. Let me beg you, sir,
  Descend with me—the Duke may be offended. Let us go down, I pray you. (Voice loudly) Say nay!—say nay! Pol. (aside)  ’Tis strange!—’tis very strange—methought the
  voice
  Chimed in with my desires, and bade me stay! (approaching the window.) Sweet voice! I heed thee, and will surely stay. Now be this Fancy, by Heaven, or be it Fate,
  Still will I not descend. Baldazzar, make
  Apology unto the Duke for me;
  I go not down to-night. Bal. Your lordship’s pleasure
  Shall be attended to. Good-night, Politian. Pol. Good-night, my friend, good-night. IV. The gardens of a Palace—Moonlight Lalage and Politian. Lalge. And dost thou speak of love
  To me, Politian?—dost thou speak of love
  To Lalage?—ah, woe—ah, woe is me! This mockery is most cruel—most cruel indeed! Politian. Weep not! oh, sob not thus!—thy bitter tears
  Will madden me. Oh, mourn not, Lalage—
  Be comforted! I know—I know it all,
  And still I speak of love. Look at me, brightest
  And beautiful Lalage!—turn here thine eyes! Thou askest me if I could speak of love,
  Knowing what I know, and seeing what I have seen. Thou askest me that—and thus I answer thee—
  Thus on my bended knee I answer thee. (kneeling.) Sweet Lalage, I love thee—love thee—love thee;
  Thro’ good and ill—thro’ weal and wo I love thee. Not mother, with her first-born on her knee,
  Thrills with intenser love than I for thee. Not on God’s altar, in any time or clime,
  Burned there a holier fire than burneth now
  Within my spirit for thee. And do I love? (arising.) Even for thy woes I love thee—even for thy woes—
  Thy beauty and thy woes. Lal. Alas, proud Earl,
  Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me! How, in thy father’s halls, among the maidens
  Pure and reproachless of thy princely line,
  Could the dishonored Lalage abide? Thy wife, and with a tainted memory—
  MY seared and blighted name, how would it tally
  With the ancestral honors of thy house,
  And with thy glory? Pol. Speak not to me of glory! I hate—I loathe the name; I do abhor
  The unsatisfactory and ideal thing. Art thou not Lalage and I Politian? Do I not love—art thou not beautiful—
  What need we more? Ha! glory!—now speak not of it. By all I hold most sacred and most solemn—
  By all my wishes now—my fears hereafter—
  By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven—
  There is no deed I would more glory in,
  Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory
  And trample it under foot. What matters it—
  What matters it, my fairest, and my best,
  That we go down unhonored and forgotten
  Into the dust—so we descend together. Descend together—and then—and then, perchance—
      Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pol. And then, perchance
  Arise together, Lalage, and roam
  The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest,
  And still—
      Lal. Why dost thou pause, Politian? Pol. And still together—together. Lal. Now Earl of Leicester! Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts
  I feel thou lovest me truly. Pol. Oh, Lalage! (throwing himself upon his knee.) And lovest thou me? Lal. Hist! hush! within the gloom
  Of yonder trees methought a figure passed—
  A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless—
  Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless. (walks across and returns.) I was mistaken—’twas but a giant bough
  Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian! Pol. My Lalage—my love! why art thou moved? Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience’ self,
  Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it,
  Should shake the firm spirit thus. But the night wind
  Is chilly—and these melancholy boughs
  Throw over all things a gloom. Lal. Politian! Thou speakest to me of love.