me but more humble;In wintry winds the simple snow is safe,
But fadeth at the greeting of the sun:
Unto thine anger I might well have spoken,
Taking on me a woman’s privilege,
But this so sudden kindness makes me dumb.
Otho.
What need of this? Enough, if you will be
A potent tutoress to my wayward boy,
And teach him, what it seems his nurse could not
To say, for once, I thank you. Sigifred!
Albert.
He has not yet return’d, my gracious liege.
Otho.
What then! No tidings of my friendly Arab?
Conrad.
None, mighty Otho.
[To one of his Knights, who goes out.
Send forth instantly
An hundred horsemen from my honoured gates,
To scour the plains and search the cottages.
Cry a reward, to him who shall first bring
News of that vanished Arabian,
A full-heap’d helmet of the purest gold.
Otho.
More thanks, good Conrad; for, except my son’s,
There is no face I rather would behold
Than that same quick-eyed pagan’s. By the saints,
This coming night of banquets must not light
Her dazzling torches; nor the music breathe
Smooth, without clashing cymbal, tones of peace
And in-door melodies; nor the ruddy wine
Ebb spouting to the lees; if I pledge not
In my first cup, that Arab!
Albert.
Mighty Monarch,
I wonder not this stranger’s victor-deeds
So, hang upon your spirit. Twice in the fight
It was my chance to meet his olive brow,
Triumphant in the enemy’s shatter ‘d rhomb;
And, to say truth, in any Christian arm
I never saw such prowess.
Otho.
Did you ever?
O, ’tis a noble boy! tut! what do I say?
I mean a triple Saladin, whose eyes,
When in the glorious scuffle they met mine,
Seem’d to say “Sleep, old man, in safety sleep;
I am the victory!”
Conrad.
Pity he’s not here.
Otho.
And my son too, pity he is not here.
Lady Auranthe, I would not make you blush,
But can you give a guess where Ludolph is?
Know you not of him?
Auranthe.
Indeed, my liege, no secret
Otho.
Nay, nay, without more words, dost know of him?
Auranthe.
I would I were so over-fortunate,
Both for his sake and mine, and to make glad
A father’s ears with tidings of his son.
Otho.
I see ’tis like to be a tedious day.
Were Theodore and Gonfred and the rest
Sent forth with my commands?
Albert.
Aye, my lord.
Otho.
And no news! No news! ‘Faith! ’tis very strange
He thus avoids us. Lady, is’t not strange?
Will he be truant to you too? It is a shame.
Conrad.
Will ‘t please your highness enter, and accept
The unworthy welcome of your servant’s house?
Leaving your cares to one whose diligence
May in few hours make pleasures of them all.
Otho.
Not so tedious, Conrad. No, no, no,
I must see Ludolph or the What’s that shout!
Voices without. Huzza! huzza! Long live the Emperor!
Other Voices. Fall back! Away there!
Otho.
Say, what noise is that?
[ALBERT advancing from the bark of the Stage, whither he had
hastened on hearing the cheers of the soldiery.
Albert.
It is young Gersa, the Hungarian prince,
Pick’d like a red stag from the fallow herd
Of prisoners. Poor prince, forlorn he steps,
Slow, and demure, and proud in his despair.
If I may judge by his so tragic bearing,
His eye not downcast, and his folded arm,
He doth this moment wish himself asleep
Among his fallen captains on yon plains.
Enter GERSA, in chains, and guarded,
Otho.
