Into some cranny to escape my wrath?
Albert. Sometimes the counsel of a dying man
Doth operate quietly when his breath is gone
Disjoin those hands part — part, do not destroy
Each other forget her our miseries
Are equal shar’d, and mercy is
Ludolph. A boon
When one can compass it. Auranthe, try
Your oratory your breath is not so hitch’d
Aye, stare for help
[ALBERT groans and dies.
There goes a spotted soul
Howling in vain along the hollow night
Hear him he calls you Sweet Auranthe, come!
Auranthe. Kill me.
Ludolph.
No! What? upon our Marriage-night!
The earth would shudder at so foul a deed
A fair Bride, a sweet Bride, an innocent Bride!
No, we must revel it, as ’tis in use
In times of delicate brilliant ceremony:
Come, let me lead you to our halls again
Nay, linger not make no resistance sweet
Will you Ah wretch, thou canst not, for I have
The strength of twenty lions ‘gainst a lamb
Now one adieu for Albert come away.
[Exeunt.
Scene III
An inner Court of the Castle.
Enter SIGIFRED, GONFRED, and THEODORE meeting.
Theodore.
Was ever such a night?
Sigifred.
What horrors more?
Things unbeliev’d one hour, so strange they are,
The next hour stamps with credit.
Theodore.
Your last news ?
Gonfred.
After the Page’s story of the death
Of Albert and Duke Conrad?
Sigifred.
And the return
Of Ludolph with the Princess.
Gonfred.
No more save
Prince Gersa’s freeing Abbot Ethelbert,
And the sweet lady, fair Erminia,
From prison.
Theodore.
Where are they now? hast yet heard?
Gonfred.
With the sad Emperor they are closeted ;
I saw the three pass slowly up the stairs,
The lady weeping, the old Abbot cowl’d.
Sigifred.
What next?
Thedore.
I ache to think on’t.
Gonfred.
’Tis with fate.
Theodore.
One while these proud towers are hush’d as death.
Gonfred.
The next our poor Prince fills the arched rooms
With ghastly ravings.
Sigifred.
I do fear his brain.
Gonfred.
I will see more. Bear you so stout a heart?
[Exeunt into the Castle.
Scene IV
A Cabinet, opening towards a Terrace.
OTHO, ERMINIA, ETHELBERT, and a Physician, discovered.
Otho.
O, my poor Boy! my Son! my Son! My Ludolph!
Have ye no comfort for me, ye Physicians
Of the weak Body and Soul?
Ethelbert.
’Tis not the Medicine
Either of heaven or earth can cure unless
Fit time be chosen to administer
Otho. A kind forbearance, holy Abbot come
Erminia, here sit by me, gentle Girl;
Give me thy hand hast thou forgiven me?
Erminia.
Would I were with the saints to pray for you!
Otho. Why will ye keep me from my darling child?
Physician.
Forgive me, but he must not see thy face
Otho. Is then a father’s countenance a Gorgon?
Hath it not comfort in it? Would it not
Console my poor Boy, cheer him, heal his spirits?
Let me embrace him, let me speak to him
I will who hinders me? Who’s Emperor?
Physician.
You may not, Sire ’twould overwhelm him quite,
He is so full of grief and passionate wrath,
Too heavy a sigh would kill him or do worse.
He must be sav’d by fine contrivances
And most especially we must keep clear
Out of his sight a Father whom he loves
His heart is full, it can contain no more,
And do its ruddy office.
Ethelbert.
Sage advice;
We must endeavour how to ease and slacken
The tight-wound energies of his despair,
Not make them tenser
Otho. Enough! I hear, I hear.
Yet you were about to advise more I listen.
Ethelbert.
This learned doctor will agree with me,
That not in the smallest point should he be thwarted
Or gainsaid by one word his very motions,
Nods, becks and hints, should be obey’d with care,
Even on the moment: so his troubled mind
May cure itself
Physician. There is no other means.
Otho.
Open the door: let’s hear if all is quiet
Physician. Beseech you, Sire, forbear.
Erminia.
Do, do.
Otho.
I command!
Open it straight hush! quiet