would not hear the end of. At nightfall
Your lady sister, if I guess aright,
Will leave this busy castle. You had best
Take farewell too of worldly vanities.
Conrad.
Vassal!
Albert.
Tomorrow, when the Emperor sends
For loving Conrad, see you fawn on him.
Good even !
Auranthe.
You’ll be seen!
Albert.
See the coast clear then.
Auranthe (as he goes). Remorseless Albert! Cruel,
cruel wretch!
[She lets him out.
Conrad.
So, we must lick the dust?
Auranthe.
I follow him.
Conrad.
How? Where? The plan of your escape?
Auranthe.
He waits
For me with horses by the forest-side,
Northward.
Conrad.
Good, good! he dies. You go, say you?
Auranthe.
Perforce.
Conrad.
Be speedy, darkness! Till that comes,
Fiends keep you company!
[Exit.
Auranthe.
And you! And you!
And all men! Vanish!
[Retires to an inner Apartment.
Scene II
Page.
Still very sick, my Lord; but now I went
Knowing my duty to so good a Prince;
And there her women in a mournful throng
Stood in the passage whispering: if any
Mov’d ’twas with careful steps and hush’d as death;
They bid me stop.
Ludolph.
Good fellow, once again
Make soft enquiry; prythee be not stay’d
By any hindrance, but with gentlest force
Break through her weeping servants, till thou com’st
E’en to her chamber door, and there, fair boy,
If with thy mother’s milk thou hast suck’d in
Any diviner eloquence ; woo her ears
With plaints for me more tender than the voice
Of dying Echo, echoed.
Page.
Kindest master!
To know thee sad thus, will unloose my tongue
In mournful syllables. Let but my words reach
Her ears and she shall take them coupled with
Moans from my heart and sighs not counterfeit.
May I speed better!
[Exit Page.
Ludolph.
Auranthe! My Life!
Long have I lov’d thee, yet till now not lov’d:
Remembering, as I do, hard-hearted times
When I had heard even of thy death perhaps,
And thoughtless, suffered to pass alone
Into Elysium! now I follow thee
A substance or a shadow, wheresoe’er
Thou leadest me, whether thy white feet press,
With pleasant weight, the amorous-aching earth,
Or thro’ the air thou pioneerest me,
A shade! Yet sadly I predestinate!
O unbenignest Love, why wilt thou let
Darkness steal out upon the sleepy world
So wearily; as if night’s chariot wheels
Were clog’d in some thick cloud. O, changeful Love,
Let not her steeds with drowsy-footed pace
Pass the high stars, before sweet embassage
Comes from the pillow ‘d beauty of that fair
Completion of all delicate nature’s wit.
Pout her faint lips anew with rubious health
And with thine infant fingers lift the fringe
Of her sick eyelids ; that those eyes may glow
With wooing light upon me, ere the Morn
Peers with disrelish, grey, barren, and cold.
Otho calls me his Lion should I blush
To be so tam’d, so
Gersa. Do me the courtesy
Gentlemen to pass on.
Courtier.
We are your servants.
[Exeunt Courtiers.
Ludolph.
It seems then, Sir, you have found out the man
You would confer with; me?
Gersa.
If I break not
Too much upon your thoughtful mood, I will
Claim a brief while your patience.
Ludolph.
For what cause
Soe’er I shall be honour ‘d.
Gersa.
I not less.
Ludolph. What may it be? No trifle can take place
Of such deliberate prologue, serious ‘haviour.
But be it what it may I cannot fail
To listen with no common interest
For though so new your presence is to me,
I have a soldier’s friendship for your fame
Please you explain.
Gersa.
As thus for, pardon me,
I cannot in plain terms grossly assault
A noble nature ; and would faintly sketch
What your quick apprehension will fill up
So finely I esteem you.
Ludolph.
I