e undeveloped girl, with all the passion to come. No, no,
my good lady, give me a woman who has lived. We courtiers know
manners and breeding when we see them, and yours are simply perfect,
not to say Imperial.

_Mel._ What a magnificent nature! Well, to say the truth, the Lady
Gycia is not at all to my taste. It is a cold, insipid style of
beauty, at the best; and she is as self-willed and as straitlaced as
a lady abbess. I suppose she is well matched with the Prince Asander?

_Meg._ Well, he is a handsome lad enough, and virtuous, but weak, as
youth always is, and pliable. Now, for myself, I am happy to say I
am steadfast and firm as a rock.

_Mel._ Ah, my lord, if all women saw with my eyes, there would not be
such a run after youth. Give me a mature man, who has seen the world
and knows something of life and manners.

_Meg._ What an intelligent creature! Madam, your sentiments do you
credit. I beg leave to lay at your feet the assurance of my entire
devotion.

_Mel._ Oh, my lord, you are too good! Why, what a dear, condescending
creature!--the manners of a Grand Chamberlain and the features of an
Apollo!

_Meg._ Permit me to enrol myself among the ranks of your humble
slaves and admirers (_kneels and kisses her hand_). But hark! the
music, and I must marshal the guests to the banquet. Permit me to
marshal you.

[_Exeunt with measured steps._

SCENE IV.--_The garden without the banqueting-room. Moonlight. The
sea in the distance, with the harbour._

ASANDER _and_ GYCIA _descend the steps of the palace slowly together.
Music heard from within the hall._

_Asan._ Come, Gycia, let us take the soft sweet air
Beneath the star of love. The festive lights
Still burn within the hall, where late we twain
Troth-plighted sate, and I from out thine eyes
Drank long, deep draughts of love stronger than wine.
And still the minstrels sound their dulcet strains,
Which then I heard not, since my ears were filled
With the sweet music of thy voice. My sweet,
How blest it is, left thus alone with love,
To hear the love-lorn nightingales complain
Beneath the star-gemmed heavens, and drink cool airs
Fresh from the summer sea! There sleeps the main
Which once I crossed unwilling. Was it years since,
In some old vanished life, or yesterday?
When saw I last my father and the shores
Of Bosphorus? Was it days since, or years,
Tell me, thou fair enchantress, who hast wove
So strong a