LALAGE. Alas, proud Earl, Thou dost forget thyself, remembering me! Pure and reproachless of thy princely line, Thy wife, and with a tainted memory— My seared and blighted name, how would it tally And with thy glory? POLITIAN. Speak not to me of glory! I hate-I loathe the name; I do abhor The unsatisfactory and ideal thing. Art thou not Lalage, and I Politian? Do I not love-art thou not beautiful What need we more? Ha! glory!-now speak not of it. By all I hold most sacred and most solemn By all my wishes now-my fears hereafter— By all I scorn on earth and hope in heaven- Than in thy cause to scoff at this same glory What matters it, my fairest, and my best, That we go down unhonoured and forgotten Into the dust-so we descend together. Descend together-and then-and then perchance LALAGE. Why dost thou pause, Politian? POLITIAN. And then perchance Arise together, Lalage, and roam The starry and quiet dwellings of the blest, LALAGE. Now, Earl of Leicester ! Thou lovest me, and in my heart of hearts I feel thou lovest me truly. And lovest thou me ? POLITIAN. Oh, Lalage! [Throwing himself upon his knee. LALAGE. Hist! hush! within the gloom Of yonder trees methought a figure pass'd— A spectral figure, solemn, and slow, and noiseless Like the grim shadow Conscience, solemn and noiseless. [Walks across and returns. I was mistaken-'t was but a giant bough Stirred by the autumn wind. Politian ! POLITIAN. My Lalage-my love! why art thou moved? Why dost thou turn so pale? Not Conscience' self, Far less a shadow which thou likenest to it, |