Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man who has ancestors is like a representative of the past.
Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity.
Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race!
Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on the dead! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to sloth! I honor the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers—it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes!
Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness.
Mel.
Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint
The home to which, could love fulfill its prayers,
This hand would lead thee, listen! A deep vale
Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world;