be a thingOf little moment.
Ethelbert.
See this innocent!
Otho! thou father of the people call’d,
Is her life nothing? Her fair honour nothing?
Her tears from matins until evensong
Nothing? Her burst heart nothing? Emperor!
Is this your gentle niece the simplest flower
Of the world’s herbal this fair lilly blanch ‘d
Still with the dews of piety, this meek lady
Here sitting like an angel newly-shent,
Who veils its snowy wings and grows all pale,
Is she nothing?
Otho.
What more to the purpose, abbot?
Ludolph.
Whither is he winding?
Conrad.
No clue yet!
Ethelbert.
You have heard, my Liege, and so, no
doubt, all here,
Foul, poisonous, malignant whisperings;
Nay open speech, rude mockery grown common,
Against the spotless nature and clear fame
Of the princess Erminia, your niece.
I have intruded here thus suddenly,
Because I hold those base weeds, with tight hand,
Which now disfigure her fair growing stem,
Waiting but for your sign to pull them up
By the dark roots, and leave her palpable,
To all men’s sight, a Lady, innocent.
The ignominy of that whisper’d tale
About a midnight gallant, seen to climb
A window to her chamber neighboured near,
I will from her turn off, and put the load
On the right shoulders; on that wretch’s head,
Who, by close stratagems, did save herself,
Chiefly by shifting to this lady’s room
A rope-ladder for false witness.
Ludolph.
Most atrocious!
Otho.
Ethelbert, proceed.
Ethelbert.
With sad lips I shall:
For in the healing of one wound, I fear
To make a greater. His young highness here
To-day was married.
Ludolph.
Good.
Ethelbert.
Would it were good!
Yet why do I delay to spread abroad
The names of those two vipers, from whose jaws
A deadly breath went forth to taint and blast
This guileless lady?
Otho.
Abbot, speak their names.
Ethelbert.
A minute first. It cannot be but may
I ask, great judge, if you to-day have put
A letter by unread?
Otho.
Does ‘tend in this?
Conrad.
Out with their names!
Ethelbert.
Bold sinner, say you so?
Ludolph.
Out, tedious monk!
Otho.
Confess, or by the wheel
Ethelbert. My evidence cannot be far away;
And, though it never come, be on my head
The crime of passing an attaint upon
The slanderers of this virgin.
Ludolph.
Speak aloud!
Ethelbert.
Auranthe, and her brother there.
Conrad.
Amaze!
Ludolph.
Throw them from the windows!
Otho.
Do what you will!
Ludolph.
What shall I do with them?
Something of quick dispatch, for should she hear,
My soft Auranthe, her sweet mercy would
Prevail against my fury. Damned priest!
What swift death wilt thou die? As to the lady
I touch her not.
Ethelbert.
Illustrious Otho, stay!
An ample store of misery thou hast,
Choak not the granary of thy noble mind
With more bad bitter grain, too difficult
A cud for the repentance of a man
Grey-growing. To thee only I appeal,
Not to thy noble son, whose yeasting youth
Will clear itself, and crystal turn again.
