III
Scene I
The Country.
Enter ALBERT.
Albert.
O that the earth were empty, as when Cain
Had no perplexity to hide his head!
Or that the sword of some brave enemy
Had put a sudden stop to my hot breath,
And hurl’d me down the illimitable gulph
Of times past, unremember’d! Better so
Than thus fast-limed in a cursed snare,
The white limbs of a wanton. This the end
Of an aspiring life! My boyhood past
In feud with wolves and bears, when no eye saw
The solitary warfare, fought for love
Of honour ‘mid the growling wilderness.
My sturdier youth, maturing to the sword,
Won by the syren-trumpets, and the ring
Of shields upon the pavement, when bright-mail’d
Henry the Fowler pass’d the streets of Prague,
Was’t to this end I louted and became
The menial of Mars, and held a spear
Sway’d by command, as corn is by the wind?
Is it for this, I now am lifted up
By Europe’s throned Emperor, to see
My honour be my executioner,
My love of fame, my prided honesty
Put to the torture for confessional?
Then the damn’d crime of blurting to the world
A woman’s secret! Though a fiend she be,
Too tender of my ignominious life;
But then to wrong the generous Emperor
In such a searching point, were to give up
My soul for football at Hell’s holiday!
I must confess, and cut my throat, to-day?
Tomorrow? Ho! some wine!
Enter SIGIFRED.
Sigifred.
A fine humour
Albert. Who goes there? Count Sigifred? Ha! Ha!
Sigifred.
What, man, do you mistake the hollow sky
For a throng ‘d tavern, and these stubbed trees
For old serge hangings, me, your humble friend,
For a poor waiter? Why, man, how you stare!
What gipsies have you been carousing with?
No, no more wine; methinks you’ve had enough.
Albert.
You well may laugh and banter. What a fool
An injury may make of a staid man!
You shall know all anon.
Sigifred.
Some tavern brawl?
Albert.
’Twas with some people out of common reach;
Revenge is difficult.
Sigifred.
I am your friend;
We meet again to-day, and can confer
Upon it. For the present I’m in haste.
Albert.
Whither?
Sigifred.
To fetch King Gersa to the feast.
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!
[Exit.
Sigifred.
Is this clear-headed Albert? He brain-turned!
