SCENE I.-AURANTHE'S Apartment

AURANTHE and CONRAD discovered.

Hungry for evidence to ruin me:

Men I have spurn'd, and women I have

99

Fetch me a missal, and a string of beads, —
A cup of bitter'd water, and a crust, -
I will confess, O holy Abbot ! - How!
What is this? Auranthe! thou fool, dolt,
Whimpering idiot! up! up! and quell!
I am safe! Coward! why am I in fear?
Albert he cannot stickle, chew the cud
In such a fine extreme, - impossible!
Who knocks?

[Goes to the door, listens, and opens it.
Enter ALBERT.

Albert, I have been waiting for you here With such an aching heart, such swooning throbs

On my poor brain, such cruel-cruel sor

row,

It doth make me freeze. Auranthe. Why should it, love?

I would not see thee dragg'd to death by the hair,

Penanced, and taunted on a scaffolding! To-night, upon the skirts of the blind wood That blackens northward of these horrid towers,

But make your own heart monitor, and save Me the great pain of telling. You must know.

121

Auranthe. Something has vext you, Al

bert. There are times When simplest things put on a sombre cast;

A melancholy mood will haunt a man,
Until most easy matters take the shape
Of unachievable tasks; small rivulets
Then seem impassable.

Albert.
Do not cheat yourself
With hope that gloss of words, or suppliant
action,

Or tears, or ravings, or self-threaten'd

death,

Can alter my resolve.

Auranthe.

fate. Farewell!

149

You make me tremble;

Auranthe. Conrad, traitor!

Albert.

Let him in.

A brace of toads, than league with them t' oppress

An innocent lady, gull an Emperor,
More generous to me than autumn sun

To ripening harvests.

Auranthe.
No more insult, sir!
Albert. Ay, clutch your scabbard; but,

for prudence sake,

Draw not the sword; 't would make an uproar, Duke,

Will leave this busy castle. You had best Take farewell too of worldly vanities. Conrad. Vassal!

Albert. To-morrow, when the Emperor sends

For loving Conrad, see you fawn on him. Good even!

Auranthe. You'll be seen! Albert. See the coast clear then. Auranthe (as he goes). Remorseless Albert! Cruel, cruel wretch! [She lets him out. Conrad. So, we must lick the dust? Auranthe. I follow him. Conrad. How? Where? The plan of your escape?

If with thy mother's milk thou hast suck'd in

Any divine eloquence - - woo her ears
With plaints for me, more tender than the
voice

Of dying Echo, echoed.
Page.

Kindest master!