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 to-morrow I should die, Wert thou not mine.

1st Lady.

[They talk apart.

How deep she has bewitch'd him! 1st Knight. Ask you for her recipe for love philtres. 2nd 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 sail beyond the Rhone;
Or routing out of Hyperborean hordes,

To these 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 prepared a royal lists;

Your knights, found war-proof in the bloody field,

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 'll 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 heard faintly.

Conrad. The trumpets reach us.

Ethelbert (without).

Detain us!

On your peril, sirs,

1st Voice (without). Let not the abbot pass.

2nd Voice (without).

No,

On your lives!

1st Voice (without). Holy father, you must not.

Ethelbert (without). Otho!

Otho.

Ethelbert (without).

Who calls on Otho ?

Ethelbert!

Otho. Let him come in.

[Enter ETHELBERT leading in ERMINIA.

Thou cursed abbot, why

Hast brought pollution to our holy rites?

Hast thou no fear of hangman, or the faggot?

Ludolph. What portent-what strange prodigy is this?

Conrad. Away!

Ethelbert.

Erminia.

You, Duke?

Albert has surely fail'd me!

Look at the Emperor's brow upon me bent!

Ethelbert. A sad delay!

Conrad.

Away, thou guilty thing!

Ethelbert. You again, Duke? Justice, most noble

Otho !

You-go to your sister there and plot again,

A quick plot, swift as thought to save your heads;
For lo! the toils are spread around your den,

The world is all agape to see dragg'd forth

Whether the riddle puzzles her beyond

The power of utterance.

Ludolph.

Ay, wife! Oh, impudence!

Thou bitter mischief! Venemous bad priest!
How dar'st thou lift those beetle brows at me?
Me-the prince Ludolph, in this presence here,
Upon my marriage-day, and scandalise

My joys with such opprobrious surprise?
Wife! Why dost linger on that syllable,
As if it were some demon's name pronounc'd
To summon harmful lightning, and make yawn
The sleepy thunder? Hast no sense of fear?
No ounce of man in thy mortality?

Tremble! for, at my nod, the sharpen'd axe
Will make thy bold tongue quiver to the roots,
Those grey lids wink, and thou not know it, monk!
Ethelbert. O, poor deceived Prince! I pity thee!
Great Otho! I claim justice-

Ludolph.

Thou shalt have 't!

Thine arms from forth a pulpit of hot fire
Shall sprawl distracted! O that that dull cowl
Were some most sensitive portion of thy life,
That I might give it to my hounds to tear!
Thy girdle some fine zealous-pained nerve
To girth my saddle! And those devil's beads
Each one a life, that I might, every day,
Crush one with Vulcan's hammer!

Otho.

Peace, my son;

You far outstrip my spleen in this affair.