Scene III

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      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.

      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.

      Ludolph.

       Say no more.

       Not as a swordsman would I pardon claim,

       But as a son. The bronz’d centurion,

       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

       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.

      Ludolph.

       I do believe you. No, ’twas not to make

       A father his son’s debtor, or to heal

       His deep heart-sickness for a rebel child.

       Twas done in memory of my boyish days,

       Poor cancel for his kindness to my youth,

       For all his calming of my childish griefs,

       And all his smiles upon my merriment.

       No, not a thousand foughten fields could sponge

       Those days paternal from my memory,

       Though now upon my head he heaps disgrace.

      Sigifred.

       My Prince, you think too harshly

      Ludolph.

       Can I so?

       Hath he not gall’d my spirit to the quick?

       And with a sullen rigour obstinate

       Pour’d 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 spar’d 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 wrong’d me, and I have done him wrong;

       He hath lov’d me, and I have shown him kindness;

       We should be almost equal.

      Sigifred.

       Yet, for all this,

       I would you had appear ‘d 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,