Cas.  ’Tis singular! 
                  Most singular!  I could not think it possible
                  So little time could so much alter one! 
                  To say the truth about an hour ago,
                  As I was walking with the Count San Ozzo,
                  All arm in arm, we met this very man
                  The Earl—­he, with his friend Baldazzar,
                  Having just arrived in Rome.  Ha! ha! he is altered! 
                  Such an account he gave me of his journey! 
                  ’Twould have made you die with laughter—­such tales he
                    told
                  Of his caprices and his merry freaks
                  Along the road—­such oddity—­such humor—­
                  Such wit—­such whim—­such flashes of wild merriment
                  Set off too in such full relief by the grave
                  Demeanor of his friend—­who, to speak the truth
                  Was gravity itself—­

Duke.  Did I not tell you?

Cas.  You did—­and yet ’tis strange! but true, as strange,
                  How much I was mistaken!  I always thought
                  The Earl a gloomy man.

Duke.  So, so, you see! 
                  Be not too positive.  Whom have we here? 
                  It cannot be the Earl?

Cas.  The Earl!  Oh no! 
                  Tis not the Earl—­but yet it is—­and leaning
                  Upon his friend Baldazzar.  Ah! welcome, sir!
                  (Enter Politian and Baldazzar.)
                  My lord, a second welcome let me give you
                  To Rome—­his Grace the Duke of Broglio. 
                  Father! this is the Earl Politian, Earl
                  Of Leicester in Great Britain.
                  [Politian bows haughtily.]
                  That, his friend
                  Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey.  The Earl has letters,
                  So please you, for Your Grace.

Duke.  Ha! ha!  Most welcome
                  To Rome and to our palace, Earl Politian! 
                  And you, most noble Duke!  I am glad to see you! 
                  I knew your father well, my Lord Politian. 
                  Castiglione! call your cousin hither,
                  And let me make the noble Earl acquainted
                  With your betrothed.  You come, sir, at a time
                  Most seasonable.  The wedding—­

Politian.  Touching those letters, sir,
                  Your son made mention of—­your son, is he not?—­
                  Touching those letters, sir, I wot not of them. 
                  If such there be, my friend Baldazzar here—­
                  Baldazzar! ah!—­my friend Baldazzar here
                  Will hand them to Your Grace.  I would retire.