Gersa. What means this, fair one?

alarm?

Who was it hurried by me so distract?

Why in such

It seem'd you were in deep discourse together;
Your doctrine has not been so harsh to him

As to my poor deserts. Come, come, be plain.
I am no jealous fool to kill you both,

Or, for such trifles, rob th' 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! Praised be the Heavens, I now dare own myself! Gersa. Erminia ! Indeed! I 've heard of her. Pr'ythee, 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.

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,

Tired out, and weary-worn with contumelies.
Gersa. Poor lady!

Erminia.

Enter ETHELBERT.

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;
I' the Emperor's name. I here demand

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,

Baptised 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. Ay, 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, Ethel

bert.

Gersa. Ho! ho, there! Guards!

Your blessing, father! Sweet Erminia,

Believe me, I am well nigh sure—

Erminia.

Short time will show.

Farewell!

[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 believed you innocent.
I follow you to Friedburg with all speed.

[Exeunt.

ACT 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 foot-ball at Hell's holiday!

I must confess, and cut my throat,-to-day?
To-morrow? Ho! some wine!

Enter SIGIFRED.

Sigifred. A fine humour

Albert. Who

goes there? Count Sigifred? Ha! ha!