The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe (Illustrated Edition). Эдгар Аллан По

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? Lalage A deed is to be done— Castiglione lives! Politian And he shall die! [Exit] Lalage (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.
Politian	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?
Baldazzar	That he, Castiglione, not being aware Of any feud existing, or any cause Of quarrel between your lordship and himself, Cannot accept the challenge.
Politian	It is most true— All this is very true. When saw you, sir, When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid Ungenial Britain which we left so lately, A heaven so calm as this—so utterly free From the evil taint of clouds?—and he did say?
Baldazzar	No more, my lord, than I have told you: The Count Castiglione will not fight. Having no cause for quarrel.
Politian	Now this is true— All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar, And I have not forgotten it—thou'lt do me A piece of service: wilt thou go back and say Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester, Hold him a villain?—thus much, I pr'ythee, say Unto the Count—it is exceeding just He should have cause for quarrel.
Baldazzar	My lord!—my friend!—
Politian (aside)	'Tis he—he comes himself! [aloud] Thou reasonest well. I know what thou wouldst say—not send the message— Well!—I will think of it—I will not send it. Now pr'ythee, leave me—hither doth come a person With whom affairs of a most private nature I would adjust.
Baldazzar	I go—to-morrow we meet, Do we not?—at the Vatican.
Politian	At the Vatican.
	[Exit Baldazzar]
	[Enter Castiglione]
Castiglione	The Earl of Leicester here!
Politian	I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest, Dost thou not, that I am here?
Castiglione	My lord, some strange, Some singular mistake—misunderstanding— Hath without doubt arisen: thou hast been urged Thereby, in heat of anger, to address Some words most unaccountable, in writing, To me, Castiglione; the bearer being Baldazzar, Duke of Surrey. I am aware Of nothing which might warrant thee in this thing, Having given thee no offence. Ha!—am I right? 'Twas a mistake?—undoubtedly—we all Do err at times.
Politian	Draw, villain, and prate no more!
Castiglione	Ha!—draw?—and villain? have at thee then at once, Proud Earl! [Draws.]
Politian	Thus to the expiatory tomb, Untimely sepulchre, I do devote thee In the name of Lalage!
Castiglione (letting fall his sword and recoiling to the extremity of the stage)	Of Lalage! Hold off—thy sacred hand!—avaunt, I say! Avaunt—I will not fight thee—indeed I dare not.
Politian	Thou wilt not fight with me didst say, Sir Count? Shall I be baffled thus?—now this is well; Didst say thou darest not? Ha!
Castiglione	I dare not—dare not— Hold off thy hand—with that beloved name So fresh upon thy lips I will not fight thee— I cannot—dare not.
Politian	Now, by my halidom, I do believe thee!—coward, I do believe thee!
Castiglione	Ha!—coward!—this may not be! [clutches his sword and staggers towards Politian, but his purpose is changed before reaching him, and he falls upon his knee at the feet of the Earl] Alas! my lord, It is—it is—most true. In such a cause I am the veriest coward. Oh, pity me!
Politian (greatly softened)	Alas!—I do—indeed I pity thee.
Castiglione	And Lalage—
Politian	Scoundrel!—arise and die!
Castiglione	It needeth not be—thus—thus—Oh, let me die Thus on my bended knee. It were most fitting That in this deep humiliation I perish. For in the fight I will not raise a hand Against thee, Earl of Leicester. Strike thou home— [baring his bosom] Here is no let or hindrance to thy weapon— Strike home. I will not fight thee.
Politian	Now's Death and Hell! Am I not—am I not sorely—grievously tempted To take thee at thy word? But mark me, sir: Think not to fly me thus. Do thou prepare