Possible! There-that letter! Read-read it.

[Gives him a letter.

Albert (reading). "To the Duke Conrad.-Forget the threat you made at parting, and I will forget to send the Emperor letters and papers of your's I have become possessed of. His life is no trifle to me; his death you shall find none to yourself." (Speaks to himself:) "Tis me-my life that's pleaded for! (Reads.) "He, for his own sake, will be dumb as the grave. Erminia has my shame fix'd upon her, sure as a wen. We are safe. AURANTHE."

A she-devil! A dragon! I her imp!
Fire of Hell! Auranthe-lewd demon!
Where got you this? Where? When?

Erminia. I found it in the tent, among some spoils Which, being noble, fell to Gersa's lot.

Come in, and see.

Albert.

[They go in and return.

Villainy! Villainy!

Conrad's sword, his corslet, and his helm,

And his letter. Caitiff, he shall feel

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Erminia. I see you are thunderstruck. Haste, haste away!

Albert. O I am tortured by this villainy.

Erminia. You needs must be. Carry it swift to Otho; Tell him, moreover, I am prisoner

Here in this camp, where all the sisterhood,
Forc'd from their quiet cells, are parcell'd out
For slaves among these Huns. Away! Away!
Albert. I am gone.

Erminia. Swift be your steed! Within this hour The Emperor will see it.

Albert.

That I can swear.

Ere I sleep:

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[Hurries out.

Gersa (without). Brave captains! thanks. Enough

Of loyal homage now!

Erminia.

Enter GERSA.

Hail, royal Hun!

Gersa. What means this, fair one? Why in such

alarm?

Who was it hurried by me so distract?

It seem'd you were in deep discourse together;

Your doctrine has not been so harsh to him

As to my poor deserts. Come, come, be plain.
I am no jealous fool to kill you both,
Or, for such trifles, rob the adorned world

Of such a beauteous vestal.

Erminia.

I grieve, my Lord, 90 ribald phrase.

Hearken, my lady pure!

To hear you condescend to
Gersa. This is too much!
Erminia. Silence! and hear the magic of a name-
Erminia! I am she,-the Emperor's niece!
Prais'd be the Heavens, I now dare own myself!

Gersa. Erminia! Indeed! I've heard of her.
Prythee, fair lady, what chance brought you here?
Erminia. Ask your own soldiers.
Gersa.

And you dare own your name. For loveliness you may-and for the rest

My vein is not censorious.

The swan, soft leaning on her fledgy breast,

When to the stream she launches, looks not back
With such a tender grace; nor are her wings

So white as your soul is, if that but be
Twin-picture to your face. Erminia!
To-day, for the first day, I am a king,
Yet would I give my unworn crown away
To know you spotless.

Erminia.

Trust me one day more,

Generously, without more certain guarantee,

Than this poor face you deign to praise so much; After that, say and do whate'er you please.

If I have any knowledge of you, sir,

I think, nay I am sure, you will grieve much

To hear my story. O be gentle to me,
For I am sick and faint with many wrongs,

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96-100 Then you dare do no more than women dare
Who dare the devil on his 'vantage ground
Yet if some strange report I heard hold good
You are in truth no coward. Ha! Erminia !
MS., last two words cancelled.

Tir'd out, and weary-worn with contumelies.

Gersa. Poor lady!

Enter ETHELBERT.

Erminia.

Gentle Prince, 'tis false indeed.

Good morrow, holy father! I have had

Your prayers, though I look'd for you in vain. 120 Ethelbert. Blessings upon you, daughter! Sure you look

Too cheerful for these foul pernicious days.

Young man, you heard this virgin say 'twas false,-
"Tis false, I say. What! can you not employ
Your temper elsewhere, 'mong these burly tents,
But you must taunt this dove, for she hath lost
The Eagle Otho to beat off assault?
Fie! fie! But I will be her guard myself;
In the Emperor's name.
I here demand of you
Herself, and all her sisterhood. She false!

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Gersa. Peace! peace, old man! I cannot think she is. Ethelbert. Whom I have known from her first infancy, Baptiz'd her in the bosom of the Church,

Watch'd her, as anxious husbandmen the grain,
From the first shoot till the unripe mid-May,
Then to the tender ear of her June days,
Which, lifting sweet abroad its timid green,
Is blighted by the touch of calumny;
You cannot credit such a monstrous tale.
Gersa. I cannot. Take her. Fair Erminia,
I follow you to Friedburg,-is't not so?
Erminia. Aye, so we purpose.
Ethelbert.

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Daughter, do you so?

How's this? I marvel! Yet you look not mad. Erminia. I have good news to tell you, Ethelbert. Gersa. Ho! ho, there! Guards!

Your blessing, father! Sweet Erminia,

Believe me, I am well nigh sure—

Erminia.

Short time will show.

Farewell!

[Enter Chiefs.

Yes, father Ethelbert,

I have news precious as we pass along.
Ethelbert. Dear daughter, you shall guide me.
Erminia.

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To no ill.

Gersa. Command an escort to the Friedburg lines.

[Exeunt Chiefs.

Pray let me lead. Fair lady, forget not

Gersa, how he believ'd you innocent.

I follow you to Friedburg with all speed. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The Country.

Enter ALBERT.

Albert. O that the earth were empty, as when Cain Had no perplexity to hide his head!

Or that the sword of some brave enemy
Had put a sudden stop to my hot breath,
And hurl'd me down the illimitable gulph
Of times past, unremember'd! Better so
Than thus fast-limed in a cursed snare,
The white limbs of a wanton. This the end
Of an aspiring life! My boyhood past

In feud with wolves and bears, when no eye saw
The solitary warfare, fought for love

Of honour 'mid the growling wilderness.

My sturdier youth, maturing to the sword,
Won by the syren-trumpets, and the ring

Of shields upon the pavement, when bright-mail'd
Henry the Fowler pass'd the streets of Prague.

Was 't to this end I louted and became
The menial of Mars, and held a spear

Sway'd by command, as corn is by the wind?
Is it for this, I now am lifted up

By Europe's throned Emperor, to see

My honour be my executioner,-
My love of fame, my prided honesty

Put to the torture for confessional ?

Then the damn'd crime of blurting to the world
A woman's secret!-Though a fiend she be,
Too tender of my ignominious life;
But then to wrong the generous Emperor
In such a searching point, were to give up
My soul for foot-ball at Hell's holiday!

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20

20

I must confess,-and cut my throat,-to-day?
To-morrow? Ho! some wine!

Sigifred.

Enter SIGIFRED.

A fine humour

Albert. Who goes there? Count Sigifred? Ha! Ha! Sigifred. What, man, do you mistake the hollow sky For a throng'd tavern,-and these stubbed trees For old serge hangings,-me, your humble friend, For a poor waiter? Why, man, how you stare! What gipsies have you been carousing with? No, no more win; methinks you've had enough. Albert. You wel may laugh and banter. What a fool An injury may make of a staid man!

You shall know all anon.

Sigifred.

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Some tavern brawl? Albert. Twas with some people out of common reach; Revenge is difficult.

Sigifred.

I am your friend;

We meet again to-day, and can confer
Upon it. For the present I'm in haste.

Albert. Whither?

Sigifred.

To fetch King Gersa to the feast.

The Emperor on this marriage is so hot,
Pray Heaven it end not in apoplexy!

The very porters, as I pass'd the doors,

Heard his loud laugh, and answer'd in full choir.

I marvel, Albert, you delay so long
From those bright revelries; go, show yourself,
You may be made a duke.

Albert.

Aye, very like:

Pray, what day has his Highness fix'd upon ?
Sigifred. For what?

Albert.

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The marriage. What else can I mean? Sigifred. To-day! O, I forgot, you could not know; The news is scarce a minute old with me.

Albert. Married to-day! To-day! You did not say so? Sigifred. Now, while I speak to you, their comely heads

Are bow'd before the mitre.

Albert.

Sigifred. What is this?

O! monstrous !

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