to himAs to my poor deserts. Come, come, be plain.
I am no jealous fool to kill you both,
Or, for such trifles, rob the adorned world
Of such a beauteous vestal.
Erminia.
I grieve, my Lord,
To hear you condescend to ribald phrase.
Gersa.
This is too much! Hearken, my lady pure!
Erminia.
Silence! and hear the magic of a name
Erminia! I am she, the Emperor’s niece!
Prais’d be the Heavens, I now dare own myself!
Gersa.
Erminia! Indeed! I’ve heard of her.
Prythee, fair lady, what chance brought you here?
Erminia.
Ask your own soldiers.
Gersa.
And you dare own your name.
For loveliness you may and for the rest
My vein is not censorious.
Erminia.
Alas! poor me!
’Tis false indeed.
Gersa.
Indeed you are too fair:
the swan, soft leaning on her fledgy breast,
When to the stream she launches, looks not back
With such a tender grace ; nor are her wings
So white as your soul is, if that but be
Twin-picture to your face. Erminia!
To-day, for the first day, I am a king,
Yet would I give my unworn crown away
To know you spotless.
Erminia.
Trust me one day more,
Generously, without more certain guarantee,
Than this poor face you deign to praise so much;
After that, say and do whate’er you please.
If I have any knowledge of you, sir,
I think, nay I am sure, you will grieve much
To hear my story. O be gentle to me,
For I am sick and faint with many wrongs,
Tir’d out, and weary-worn with contumelies.
Gersa.
Poor lady!
Enter ETHELBERT.
Erminia.
Gentle Prince, ’tis false indeed.
Good morrow, holy father! I have had
Your prayers, though I look’d for you in vain.
Ethelbert. Blessings upon you, daughter! Sure you look
Too cheerful for these foul pernicious days.
Young man, you heard this virgin say ’twas false,
’Tis false, I say. What! can you not employ
Your temper elsewhere, ‘mong these burly tents,
But you must taunt this dove, for she hath lost
The Eagle Otho to beat off assault?
Fie! fie! But I will be her guard myself;
In the Emperor’s name. I here demand of you
Herself, and all her sisterhood. She false!
Gersa. Peace! peace, old man! I cannot think she is.
Ethelbert.
Whom I have known from her first infancy,
Baptized her in the bosom of the Church,
Watch’d her, as anxious husbandmen the grain,
From the first shoot till the unripe mid-May,
Then to the tender ear of her June days,
Which, lifting sweet abroad its timid green,
Is blighted by the touch of calumny;
You cannot credit such a monstrous tale.
Gersa.
I cannot. Take her. Fair Erminia,
I follow you to Friedburg, is’t not so?
Erminia.
Aye, so we purpose.
Ethelbert.
Daughter, do you so?
How’s this? I marvel! Yet you look not mad.
Erminia.
I have good news to tell you, Ethelbert.
Gersa.
Ho! ho, there! Guards!
Your blessing, father! Sweet Erminia,
Believe me, I am well nigh sure
Erminia . Farewell!
Short time will show. [Enter Chiefs.
Yes, father Ethelbert,
I have news precious as we pass along.
Ethelbert.
Dear daughter, you shall guide me.
Erminia. To no ill.
Gersa.
Command an escort to the Friedburg lines.
[Exeunt Chiefs.
Pray let me lead. Fair lady, forget not
Gersa, how he believ’d you innocent.
I follow you to Friedburg with all speed. [Exeunt.
