Ludolph. It seems then, sir, you have found out the man You would confer with;—me?

Gersa. If I break not
Too much upon your thoughtful mood, I will
Claim a brief while your patience.

Ludolph. For what cause
Soe’er, I shall be honoured.

Gersa. I not less.

Ludolph. What may it be? No trifle can take place
Of such deliberate prologue, serious ’haviour.
But, be it what it may, I cannot fail
To listen with no common interest;
For though so new your presence is to me,
I have a soldier’s friendship for your fame.
Please you explain.

Gersa. As thus:—for, pardon me,
I cannot, in plain terms, grossly assault
A noble nature; and would faintly sketch
What your quick apprehension will fill up;
So finely I esteem you.

Ludolph. I attend.

Gersa. Your generous father, most illustrious Otho,
Sits in the banquet-room among his chiefs;
His wine is bitter, for you are not there;
His eyes are fixed still on the open doors,
And ev’ry passer in he frowns upon,
Seeing no Ludolph comes.

Ludolph. I do neglect.

Gersa. And for your absence may I guess the cause?

Ludolph. Stay there! No—guess? More princely you must be
Than to make guesses at me. ’Tis enough.
I’m sorry I can hear no more.

Gersa. And I
As grieved to force it on you so abrupt;
Yet, one day, you must know a grief, whose sting
Will sharpen more the longer ’tis concealed.

Ludolph. Say it at once, sir! Dead—dead?—is she
dead?

Gersa. Mine is a cruel task: she is not dead,
And would, for your sake, she were innocent.

Ludolph. Hungarian! thou amazest me beyond
All scope of thought, convulsest my heart’s blood
To deadly churning! Gersa, you are young,
As I am; let me observe you, face to face;
Not grey-browed like the poisonous Ethelbert,
No rheumèd eyes, no furrowing of age,
No wrinkles, where all vices nestle in
Like crannied vermin,—no! but fresh, and young,
And hopeful-featured. Ha! by heaven, you weep!
Tears, human tears! Do you repent you then
Of a cursed torturer’s office? Why shouldst join—
Tell me,—the league of devils? Confess—confess—
The lie!

Gersa. Lie!—but begone all ceremonious points
Of honour battailous! I could not turn
My wrath against thee for the orbêed world.

Ludolph. Your wrath, weak boy? Tremble at mine, unless
Retraction follow close upon the heels
Of that late ’stounding insult! Why, has my sword
Not done already a sheer judgment on thee?
Despair, or eat thy words! Why, thou wast nigh
Whimpering away my reason! Hark ye, sir,
It is no secret, that Erminia,
Erminia, sir, was hidden in your tent,—
O, blessed asylum! comfortable home!
Begone! I pity thee; thou art a gull,
Erminia’s last new puppet!

Gersa. Furious fire
Thou mak’st me boil as hot as thou canst flame!
And in thy teeth I give thee back the lie!
Thou liest! Thou, Auranthe’s fool! A wittol!

Ludolph. Look; look at this bright sword;
There is no part of it, to the very hilt,
But shall indulge itself about thine heart!
Draw! but remember thou must cower thy plumes,
As yesterday the Arab made thee stoop.