AURANTHE, Conrad’s Sister.
Ladies and Attendants.
SCENE. The Castle of Friedburg, its vicinity, and the Hungarian Camp.
TIME. One Day.
Act I
Scene I
Conrad.
So, I am safe emerged from these broils!
Amid the wreck of thousands I am whole;
For every crime I have a laurel-wreath,
For every lie a lordship. Nor yet has
My ship of fortune furl’d her silken sails,
Let her glide on! This danger’d neck is saved,
By dexterous policy, from the rebel’s axe;
And of my ducal palace not one stone
Is bruised by the Hungarian petards.
Toil hard, ye slaves, and from the miser-earth
Bring forth once more my bullion, treasured deep,
With ah my jewell’d salvers, silver and gold,
And precious goblets that make rich the wine.
But why do I stand babbling to myself?
Where is Auranthe? I have news for her
Shall-
Auranthe.
Conrad! what tidings? Good, if I may guess
From your alert eyes and high-lifted brows.
What tidings of the battle? Albert? Ludolph? Otho?
Conrad.
You guess aright. And, sister, slurring o’er
Our by-gone quarrels, I confess my heart
Is beating with a child’s anxiety,
To make our golden fortune known to you.
Auranthe.
So serious?
Conrad.
Yes, so serious, that before
I utter even the shadow of a hint
Concerning what will make that sin-worn cheek
Blush joyous blood through every lineament,
You must make here a solemn vow to me.
Auranthe.
I prythee, Conrad, do not overact
The hypocrite what vow would you impose?
Conrad.
Trust me for once, that you may be assured
’Tis not confiding to a broken reed,
A poor Court-bankrupt, outwitted and lost,
Revolve these facts in your acutest mood,
In such a mood as now you listen to me:
A few days since, I was an open rebel
Against the Emperor, had suborn’d his son,
Drawn off his nobles to revolt, and shown
Contented fools causes for discontent
Fresh hatch’d in my ambition’s eagle nest
So thrived I as a rebel, and behold
Now I am Otho’s favourite, his dear friend,
His right hand, his brave Conrad.
Auranthe.
I confess
You have intrigued with these unsteady times
To admiration; but to be a favourite
Conrad.
I saw my moment. The Hungarians,
Collected silently in holes and corners,
Appeared, a sudden host, in the open day.
I should have perish’d in our empire’s wreck,
But, calling interest loyalty, swore faith
To most believing Otho; and so helped
His blood-stained ensigns to the victory
In yesterday’s hard fight, that it has turn’d
The edge of his sharp wrath to eager kindness.
Auranthe.
So far yourself. But what is this to me
More than that I am glad? I gratulate you.
Conrad.
Yes, sister, but it does regard you greatly,
Nearly, momentously, aye, painfully!
Make me this vow
Auranthe.
Concerning whom or what?
Conrad.
Albert!
Auranthe.
I would inquire somewhat of him:
You had a letter from me touching him?
No treason ‘gainst his head in deed or word!
Surely you spar’d him at my earnest prayer?
Give me the letter it should not exist!
Conrad.
At one pernicious charge of the enemy,
I, for a moment-whiles, was prisoner ta’en
And rifled, stuff! the horses’ hoofs have minc’d it!
Auranthe.
He is alive?
Conrad.
He is! but here make oath
To alienate him from your scheming brain,
Divorce him from your solitary thoughts,
And cloud him in such utter banishment,
That when his person meets again your eye,
Your vision shall quite lose its memory,
And wander past him as through vacancy.
Auranthe.
I’ll not be perjured.
Conrad.
No, nor great, nor mighty;
You would not wear a crown, or rule a kingdom.
To you it is indifferent.
Auranthe.
What means this?
Conrad.
You’ll not be perjured! Go to Albert then,
That camp-mushroom dishonour of our house.
Go, page his dusty heels upon a march,
Furbish his jingling baldric while he sleeps,
And share his mouldy ration in a siege.
Yet stay, perhaps a charm may call you back,
And