ACT IV.

SCENE I.-AURANTHE'S Apartment.

AURANTHE and CONRAD discovered.

W

Conrad.

ELL, well, I know what ugly jeopardy
We are caged in; you need not pester
that

Into my ears. Prythee, let me be spared
A foolish tongue, that I may bethink me
Of remedies with some deliberation.

You cannot doubt but 'tis in Albert's power
To crush or save us?

Auranthe.

No, I cannot doubt.

He has, assure yourself, by some strange means, My secret; which I ever hid from him, Knowing his mawkish honesty.

Conrad.

Cursed slave!

Auranthe. Ay, I could almost curse him now myself. Wretched impediment! Evil genius!

A glue upon my wings, that cannot spread, When they should span the provinces! A snake, A scorpion, sprawling on the first gold step, Conducting to the throne high canopied.

Conrad. You would not hear my counsel, when his life

Might have been trodden out, all sure and hush'd; Now the dull animal forsooth must be

Intreated, managed! When can you contrive
The interview he demands?

Auranthe.

As speedily

It must be done as my bribed woman can
Unseen conduct him to me; but I fear
"Twill be impossible, while the broad day
Comes through the panes with persecuting glare.
Methinks, if't now were night I could intrigue
With darkness, bring the stars to second me,
And settle all this trouble.

Conrad.

Nonsense! Child!

See him immediately; why not now?

Auranthe. Do you forget that even the senseless door-posts

Are on the watch and gape through all the house? How many whisperers there are about,

Hungry for evidence to ruin me.—

Men I have spurn'd, and women I have taunted? Besides, the foolish prince sends, minute whiles, His pages- so they tell me

-to inquire After my health, entreating, if I please, To see me.

Conrad. Well, suppose this Albert here; What is your power with him ?

He should be

Auranthe.
My echo, my taught parrot! but I fear

He will be cur enough to bark at me;

Have his own say; read me some silly creed 'Bout shame and pity.

Conrad.

What will you do then?

Auranthe. What I shall do, I know not: what

I would

Cannot be done; for see,

this chamber-floor

Will not yield to the pick-axe and the spade,— Here is no quiet depth of hollow ground.

Conrad. Sister, you have grown sensible and wise, Seconding, ere I speak it, what is now,

I hope, resolved between us.

Auranthe.

Say, what is't?

Conrad. You need not be his sexton too: a man May carry that with him shall make him die Elsewhere, give that to him; pretend the while You will to-morrow succumb to his wishes,

Be what they may, and send him from the Castle On some fool's errand; let his latest groan

Frighten the wolves!

Auranthe.

Alas! he must not die!

Conrad. Would you were both hearsed up in stifling lead!

Detested.

Auranthe. Conrad, hold! I would not bear
The little thunder of your fretful tongue,
Tho' I alone were taken in these toils,

And you could free me; but remember, sir,
You live alone in my security:

So keep your wits at work, for your own sake,
Not mine, and be more mannerly.

Conrad.

Thou wasp!

If my domains were emptied of these folk,
And I had thee to starve-

Auranthe.

--

O, marvellous!

But Conrad, now be gone; the host is look'd for;
Cringe to the Emperor, entertain the lords,
And, do ye mind, above all things, proclaim
My sickness, with a brother's sadden'd eye,

Condoling with Prince Ludolph. In fit time
Return to me.

Conrad. I leave you to your thoughts.

[Exit. Auranthe (sola). Down, down, proud temper! down, Auranthe's pride!

Why do I anger him when I should kneel?
Conrad! Albert! help! help! What can I do?
O wretched woman! lost, wreck'd, swallow'd up,
Accursed, blasted! O, thou golden Crown,
Orbing along the serene firmament

Of a wide empire, like a glowing moon;
And thou, bright sceptre! lustrous in my eyes
There-as the fabled fair Hesperian tree,
Bearing a fruit more precious! graceful thing,
Delicate, godlike, magic! must I leave
Thee to melt in the visionary air,

Ere, by one grasp, this common hand is made
Imperial? I do not know the time

When I have wept for sorrow; but methinks
I could now sit upon the ground, and shed
Tears, tears of misery. O, the heavy day!
How shall I bear my life till Albert comes ?
Ludolph! Erminia! Proofs ! O heavy day!
Bring me some mourning weeds, that I may 'tire
Myself as fits one wailing her own death:

Cut off these curls, and brand this lily hand,
And throw these jewels from my loathing sight,-
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 sorrow,
That I should claim your pity! Art not well?
Albert. Yes, lady, well.

Auranthe.

You look not so, alas! But pale, as if you brought some heavy news. Albert. You know full well what makes me look

so pale.

Auranthe. No! Do I? Surely I am still to learn Some horror; all I know, this present, is

I am near hustled to a dangerous gulf,
Which you can save me from,—and therefore safe,
So trusting in thy love; that should not make
Thee pale, my Albert.

Albert.

It doth make me freeze.

Auranthe. Why should it, love?
Albert.

You should not ask me that,
But make your own heart monitor, and save
Me the great pain of telling. You must know.
Auranthe. Something has vext you, Albert. 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