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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe – Volume 5
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With those words upon thy lips – O, 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-
O 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 faint,
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, O pity me!
O 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.
Pol. 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?
Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:
The Count Castiglione will not fight,
Having no cause for quarrel.
Pol. 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 prythee, say
Unto the Count – it is exceeding just
He should have cause for quarrel.
Bal. My lord! – my friend! -
Pol. (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 prythee, leave me – hither doth come a person
With whom affairs of a most private nature
I would adjust.
Bal. I go – to-morrow we meet,
Do we not? – at the Vatican.
Pol. At the Vatican.
(exit Bal.)
Enter Castigilone.
Cas. The Earl of Leicester here!
Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,
Dost thou not? that I am here.
Cas. 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.
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-
O 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 faint,
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, O pity me!
O 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.
Pol. 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?
Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:
The Count Castiglione will not fight,
Having no cause for quarrel.
Pol. 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 prythee, say
Unto the Count – it is exceeding just
He should have cause for quarrel.
Bal. My lord! – my friend! -
Pol. (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 prythee, leave me – hither doth come a person
With whom affairs of a most private nature
I would adjust.
Bal. I go – to-morrow we meet,
Do we not? – at the Vatican.
Pol. At the Vatican.
(exit Bal.)
Enter Castigilone.
Cas. The Earl of Leicester here!
Pol. I am the Earl of Leicester, and thou seest,
Dost thou not? that I am here.
Cas. 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.
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