No more a mourner--but the radiant Joys
Shall wait upon thee, and the angel Hope
Attend thee ever; and I will kneel to thee
And worship thee, and call thee my beloved,
My own, my beautiful, my love, my wife,
My all;--oh, wilt thou--wilt thou, Lalage,
Fly thither with me?

_Lal_. A deed is to be done--
Castiglione lives!

_Pol_. And he shall die!

(_Exit_.)

_Lal_.
(_after a pause_). And--he--shall--die!--alas!
Castiglione die? Who spoke the words?
Where am I?--what was it he said?--Politian!
Thou _art_ not gone--thou art not _gone_, Politian!
I _feel_ thou art not gone--yet dare not look,
Lest I behold thee not--thou _couldst_ not go
With those words upon thy lips--oh, speak to me!
And let me hear thy voice--one word--one word,
To say thou art not gone,--one little sentence,
To say how thou dost scorn--how thou dost hate
My womanly weakness. Ha! ha! thou _art_ not gone--
Oh, speak to me! I _knew_ thou wouldst not go!
I knew thou wouldst not, couldst not, _durst_ not go.
Villain, thou _art_ not gone--thou mockest me!
And thus I clutch thee--thus!--He is gone, he is gone--
Gone--gone. Where am I?--'tis well--'tis very well!
So that the blade be keen--the blow be sure,
'Tis well, 'tis _very_ well--alas! alas!

V.

The Suburbs. POLITIAN alone.

_Politian_. This weakness grows upon me. I am fain
And much I fear me ill--it will not do
To die ere I have lived!--Stay--stay thy hand,
O Azrael, yet awhile!--Prince of the Powers
Of Darkness and the Tomb, oh, pity me!
Oh, 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 late
Demanded but to die!--What sayeth the Count?

_Enter Baldazzar_.

_Baldazzar_. That, knowing no cause of quarrel or of feud