Far from it, love.
No branch, they say, of all philosophy
So deep abstruse he has not mastered it.
Learned as few are learned.
_Aless_. 'Tis very strange!
I have known men have seen Politian
And sought his company. They speak of him
As of one who entered madly into life,
Drinking the cup of pleasure to the dregs.
_Cas_. Ridiculous! Now _I_ have seen Politian
And know him well--nor learned nor mirthful he.
He is a dreamer, and shut out
From common passions.
_Di Brog_. Children, we disagree.
Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air
Of the garden. Did I dream, or did I hear
Politian was a _melancholy_ man?
(_Exeunt._)
II.
ROME.--A Lady's Apartment, with a window open and looking into a garden.
LALAGE, in deep mourning, reading at a table on which lie some books and
a hand-mirror. In the background JACINTA (a servant maid) leans
carelessly upon a chair.
_Lalage_. Jacinta! is it thou?
_Jacinta
(pertly_). Yes, ma'am, I'm here.
_Lal_. I did not know, Jacinta, you were in waiting.
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