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
                  Between the Earl Politian and himself,
                  He doth decline your cartel.

Pol. What didst thou say? 
                  What answer was it you brought me, good Baldazzar? 
                  With what excessive fragrance the zephyr comes
                  Laden from yonder bowers!—­a fairer day,
                  Or one more worthy Italy, methinks
                  No mortal eyes have seen!—­what said the Count?

Bal.  That he, Castiglione, not being aware
                  Of any feud existing, or any cause
                  Of quarrel between your lordship and himself,
                  Cannot accept the challenge.