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.
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.
O! Monstrous!
Sigifred.
What is this?
Albert.
Nothing, Sigifred. Farewell!
We’ll meet upon our subject. Farewell, count!
Sigifred.
Is this clear-headed Albert? He brain-turned!
’Tis as portentous as a meteor.
[Exit.
Scene II
Otho.
Now, Ludolph! Now, Auranthe! Daughter fair!
What can I find to grace your nuptial day
More than my love, and these wide realms in fee?
Ludolph.
I have too much.
Auranthe.
And I, my liege, by far.
Ludolph.
Auranthe! I have! O, my bride, my love!
Not all the gaze upon us can restrain
My eyes, too long poor exiles from thy face,
From adoration, and my foolish tongue
From uttering soft responses to the love
I see in thy mute beauty beaming forth!
Fair creature, bless me with a single word!
All mine!
Auranthe.
Spare, spare me, my Lord! I swoon else.
Ludolph.
Soft beauty! by tomorrow I should die,
Wert thou not mine. [They talk apart,
First Lady. How deep she has bewitch’d him!
First Knight. Ask you for her recipe for love philtres.
Second Lady. They hold the Emperor in admiration,
Otho. If ever king was happy, that am I!
What are the cities ‘yond the Alps to me,
The provinces about the Danube’s mouth,
The promise of fair soil beyond the Rhone;
Or routing out of Hyperborean hordes,
To those fair children, stars of a new age?
Unless perchance I might rejoice to win
This little ball of earth, and chuck it them
To play with!
Auranthe.
Nay, my Lord, I do not know.
Ludolph.
Let me not famish.
Otho (to Conrad). Good Franconia,
You heard what oath I sware, as the sun rose,
That unless Heaven would send me back my son,
My Arab, no soft music should enrich
The cool wine, kiss’d off with a soldier’s smack;
Now all my empire, barter ‘d for one feast,
Seems poverty.
Conrad.
Upon the neighbour-plain
The heralds have prepar’d a royal lists;
Your knights, found war-proof in the bloody field,
Speed to the game.
Otho.
Well, Ludolph, what say you?
Ludolph.
My lord!
Otho.
A tourney?
Conrad.
Or, if’t please you best
Ludolph. I want no morel
First Lady. He soars!
Second Lady. Past all reason.
Ludolph.
Though heaven’s choir
Should in a vast circumference descend
And sing for my delight, I’d stop my ears!
Though bright Apollo’s car stood burning here,
And he put out an arm to bid me mount,
His touch an immortality, not I!
This earth, this palace, this room, Auranthe!
Otho.
This is a little painful; just too much.
Conrad, if he flames longer in this wise,
I shall believe in wizard-woven loves
And old romances; but I’ll break the spell.
Ludolph!
Conrad.
He will be calm, anon.
Ludolph.
You call’d?
Yes, yes, yes, I offend. You must forgive me;
Not being quite recover’d from the stun
Of your large bounties. A tourney, is it not?
{A senet