Отно.

It is not so;

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Still understand me, King of Hungary,
Nor judge my open purposes awry.
Though I did hold you high in my esteem
For your self's sake, I do not personate
The stage-play emperor to entrap applause,
To set the silly sort o' the world agape,
And make the politic smile; no, I have heard
How in the Council you condemn'd this war,
Urging the perfidy of broken faith,-

For that I am your friend.

GERSA.

If ever, sire,

You are my enemy, I dare here swear

'Twill not be Gersa's fault. Otho, farewell!

Отно.

Will you return, Prince, to our banqueting?

GERSA.

As to my father's board I will return.

Отно.

Conrad, with all due ceremony, give
The prince a regal escort to his camp;
Albert, go thou and bear him company.
Gersa, farewell!

GERSA.

All happiness attend you!

Отно.

Return with what good speed you may; for soon

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We must consult upon our terms of

peace.

And thus a marble column do I build

[Exeunt GERSA and ALBERT with others.

To prop my empire's dome. Conrad, in thee
I have another stedfast one, to uphold
The portals of my state; and, for my own
Pre-eminence and safety, I will strive
To keep thy strength upon its pedestal.
For, without thee, this day I might have been
A show-monster about the streets of Prague,
In chains, as just now stood that noble prince :
And then to me no mercy had been shown,
For when the conquer'd lion is once dungeon'd,
Who lets him forth again? or dares to give
An old lion sugar-cakes of mild reprieve?
Not to thine ear alone I make confession,
But to all here, as, by experience,

I know how the great basement of all power
Is frankness, and a true tongue to the world;
And how intriguing secrecy is proof
Of fear and weakness, and a hollow state.
Conrad, I owe thee much.

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For what can any man on earth do more?

We will make trial of your house's welcome,
My bright Auranthe!

CONRAD.

How is Friedburg honoured!

Enter ETHELBERT and six Monks.

ETHELBERT.

The benison of heaven on your head,

Imperial Otho!

Отно.

Who stays me? Speak! Quick!

ETHELBERT.

Pause but one moment, mighty conqueror !
Upon the threshold of this house of joy.

Отно.

Pray, do not prose, good Ethelbert, but speak
What is your purpose.

ETHELBERT.

The restoration of some captive maids,
Devoted to Heaven's pious ministries,
Who, driven forth from their religious cells,
And kept in thraldom by our enemy,
When late this province was a lawless spoil,
Still weep amid the wild Hungarian camp,

Though hemm'd around by thy victorious arms.

Отно.

Demand the holy sisterhood in our name

From Gersa's tents. Farewell, old Ethelbert.

ETHELBERT.

The saints will bless you for this pious care.

Отно.

Daughter, your hand; Ludolph's would fit it best.

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CONRAD.

Ho! let the music sound!

[Music. ETHELBERT raises his hands, as in benediction of OTHO. Exeunt severally. The scene closes on them.

SCENE III.-The Country, with the Castle in the
distance.

Enter LUDOLPH and SIGIFRED.

LUDOLPH.

You have my secret; let it not be breath'd.

SIGIFRED.

Still give me leave to wonder that the Prince
Ludolph and the swift Arab are the same;
Still to rejoice that 'twas a German arm
Death doing in a turban'd masquerade.

LUDOLPH.

The Emperor must not know it, Sigifred.

SIGIFRED.

I prythee, why? What happier hour of time

Could thy pleas'd star point down upon from heaven
With silver index, bidding thee make peace?

LUDOLPH.

Still it must not be known, good Sigifred;
The star may point oblique.

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10

SIGIFRED.

If Otho knew

His son to be that unknown Mussulman
After whose spurring heels he sent me forth,
With one of his well-pleas'd Olympian oaths,
The charters of man's greatness, at this hour
He would be watching round the castle walls,
And, like an anxious warder, strain his sight
For the first glimpse of such a son return'd—
Ludolph, that blast of the Hungarians,
That Saracenic meteor of the fight,
That silent fury, whose fell scymitar
Kept danger all aloof from Otho's head,
And left him space for wonder.

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Long toil'd in foreign wars, and whose high deeds

Are shaded in a forest of tall spears,

Known only to his troop, hath greater plea

Of favour with my sire than I can have.

SIGIFRED.

My lord, forgive me that I cannot see

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How this proud temper with clear reason squares.

What made you then, with such an anxious love,
Hover around that life, whose bitter days
You vext with bad revolt? Was 't opium,
Or the mad-fumed wine? Nay, do not frown,
I rather would grieve with you than upbraid.

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