[Glancing round, pleased.
Ah, they have left me lonely! How delicious
It is to be neglected when one dies.
[Mischievously tickling Burchard’s nose with a fan that lies on the bed.
Burchard, good-night!
BURCHARD.
[Yawning.] O Holiness!
ALEXANDER.
You are napping at your post!
It does not matter.
You looked so ugly when you lay asleep,
I waked you: comely
You are when stiff and handsome in your clothes.
[Burchard stands formal before his master, who looks up at him, appealingly.
Bright eyes,
Take no more record of me: do not publish
These stains, these swollen limbs.
Give me the mirror
That my last breath shall soil—that is its use!
But I will snatch it as in youth.... Vanozza,
Giulia, and a little earlier one—
Well, well, I gave them happiness.