Ludolph. Can I so?
Hath he not galled my spirit to the quick?
And with a sullen rigour obstinate
Poured out a phial of wrath upon my faults;
Hunted me as the Tartar does the boar,
Driven me to the very edge o’ the world,
And almost put a price upon my head?

Sigifred. Remember how he spared the rebel lords.

Ludolph. Yes, yes, I know he hath a noble nature
That cannot trample on the fallen. But his
Is not the only proud heart in his realm.
He hath wronged me, and I have done him wrong;
He hath loved me, and I have shown him kindness;
We should be almost equal.

Sigifred. Yet for all this,
I would you had appeared among those lords,
And ta’en his favour.

Ludolph. Ha! Till now I thought
My friend had held poor Ludolph’s honour dear.
What! Would you have me sue before his throne
And kiss, the courtier’s missal, its silk steps?
Or hug the golden housings of his steed,
Amid a camp whose steeled swarms I dared
But yesterday? and, at the trumpet sound,
Bow, like some unknown mercenary’s flag,
And lick the soiled grass? No, no, my friend,
I would not, I, be pardoned in the heap,
And bless indemnity with all that scum,—
Those men I mean, who on my shoulders propped
Their weak rebellion, winning me with lies,
And pitying forsooth my many wrongs;
Poor self-deceived wretches, who must think
Each one himself a king in embryo,
Because some dozen vassals cried, My lord!
Cowards, who never knew their little hearts
Till flurried danger held the mirror up,
And then they owned themselves without a blush,
Curling, like spaniels, round my father’s feet.
Such things deserted me and are forgiven,
While I, least guilty, am an outcast still,—
And will be, for I love such fair disgrace.

Sigifred. I know the clear truth; so would Otho see,
For he is just and noble. Fain would I
Be pleader for you—

Ludolph. He’ll hear none of it;
You know his temper, hot, proud, obstinate;
Endanger not yourself so uselessly.
I will encounter this thwart spleen myself,
To-day at the Duke Conrad’s, where he keeps
His crowded state after the victory.
There will I be, a most unwelcome guest,
And parley with him, as a son should do
Who doubly loathes a father’s tyranny;
Tell him how feeble is that tyranny;
How the relationship of father and son
Is no more valued than a silken leash
Where lions tug averse, if love grow not
From interchanged love through many years.
Ay, and those turreted Franconian walls,
Like to a jealous casket, hold my pearl—
My fair Auranthe! Yes, I will be there.

Sigifred. Be not so rash! wait till his wrath shall pass
Until his royal spirit softly ebbs,
Self-influenced; then, in his morning dreams
He will forgive thee, and awake in grief
To have not thy good-morrow.

Ludolph. Yes, to-day
I must be there, while her young pulses beat
Among the new-plumed minions of war.
Have you seen her of late? No? Auranthe,
Franconia’s fair sister, ’tis I mean.
She should be paler for my troublous days—
And there it is—my father’s iron lips

Sigifred (aside). Auranthe! I had hoped this whim had passed.

Ludolph. And, Sigifred, with all his love of justice,
When will he take that grandchild in his arms,
That, by my love I swear, shall soon be his?
This reconcilement is impossible,
For see—but who are these?

Sigifred. They are messengers
From our great emperor; to you, I doubt not,
For couriers are abroad to seek you out.

Enter Theodore and Gonfrid

Theodore. Seeing so many vigilant eyes explore
The province to invite your highness back
To your high dignities, we are too happy.