The Complete Works of John Keats: Poems, Plays & Personal Letters. John Keats

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The Complete Works of John Keats: Poems, Plays & Personal Letters - John  Keats


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       Table of Contents

      An Apartment in the Castle.

      Enter, as from the Marriage, OTHO, LUDOLPH, AURANTHE, CONRAD,

       Nobles, Knights, Ladies, &c. Music.

      Otho.

       Now, Ludolph! Now, Auranthe! Daughter fair!

       What can I find to grace your nuptial day

       More than my love, and these wide realms in fee?

      Ludolph.

       I have too much.

      Auranthe.

       And I, my liege, by far.

      Ludolph.

       Auranthe! I have! O, my bride, my love!

       Not all the gaze upon us can restrain

       My eyes, too long poor exiles from thy face,

       From adoration, and my foolish tongue

       From uttering soft responses to the love

       I see in thy mute beauty beaming forth!

       Fair creature, bless me with a single word!

       All mine!

      Auranthe.

       Spare, spare me, my Lord! I swoon else.

      Ludolph.

       Soft beauty! by tomorrow I should die,

       Wert thou not mine. [They talk apart,

       First Lady. How deep she has bewitch’d him!

       First Knight. Ask you for her recipe for love philtres.

       Second Lady. They hold the Emperor in admiration,

       Otho. If ever king was happy, that am I!

       What are the cities ‘yond the Alps to me,

       The provinces about the Danube’s mouth,

       The promise of fair soil beyond the Rhone;

       Or routing out of Hyperborean hordes,

       To those fair children, stars of a new age?

       Unless perchance I might rejoice to win

       This little ball of earth, and chuck it them

       To play with!

      Auranthe.

       Nay, my Lord, I do not know.

      Ludolph.

       Let me not famish.

       Otho (to Conrad). Good Franconia,

       You heard what oath I sware, as the sun rose,

       That unless Heaven would send me back my son,

       My Arab, no soft music should enrich

       The cool wine, kiss’d off with a soldier’s smack;

       Now all my empire, barter ‘d for one feast,

       Seems poverty.

      Conrad.

       Upon the neighbour-plain

       The heralds have prepar’d a royal lists;

       Your knights, found war-proof in the bloody field,

       Speed to the game.

      Otho.

       Well, Ludolph, what say you?

      Ludolph.

       My lord!

      Otho.

       A tourney?

      Conrad.

       Or, if’t please you best

       Ludolph. I want no morel

       First Lady. He soars!

       Second Lady. Past all reason.

      Ludolph.

       Though heaven’s choir

       Should in a vast circumference descend

       And sing for my delight, I’d stop my ears!

       Though bright Apollo’s car stood burning here,

       And he put out an arm to bid me mount,

       His touch an immortality, not I!

       This earth, this palace, this room, Auranthe!

      Otho.

       This is a little painful; just too much.

       Conrad, if he flames longer in this wise,

       I shall believe in wizard-woven loves

       And old romances; but I’ll break the spell.

       Ludolph!

      Conrad.

       He will be calm, anon.

      Ludolph.

       You call’d?

       Yes, yes, yes, I offend. You must forgive me;

       Not being quite recover’d from the stun

       Of your large bounties. A tourney, is it not?

       {A senet heard faintly.

      Conrad.

       The trumpets reach us.

       Ethelbert (without). On your peril, sirs,

       Detain us!

       First Voice (without). Let not the abbot pass.

       Second Voice (without). No,

       On your lives!

       First Voice (without). Holy Father, you must not.

       Ethelbert (without). Otho!

      Otho.

       Who calls on Otho?

       Ethelhert (without). Ethelbert!

      Otho.

       Let him come in.

      Enter ETHELBERT leading in ERMINIA.

       Thou cursed abbot, why

       Hast brought pollution to our holy rites?

       Hast thou no fear of hangman, or the faggot?

      Ludolph.

       What portent what strange prodigy is this?

      Conrad.

       Away!

      Ethelbert.

       You, Duke?

      Ermmia.

       Albert has surely fail’d me!

       Look at the Emperor’s brow upon me bent!

      Ethelbert.

       A sad delay!

      Conrad.

       Away, thou guilty thing!

      Ethelbert.

       You again, Duke? Justice, most mighty Otho!

       You go to your sister there and plot again,

       A quick plot, swift as thought to save your heads;

       For lo! the toils are spread around your den,

       The word is all agape to see dragg’d forth

       Two ugly monsters.

      Ludolph.

       What means he, my lord?

      Conrad.

       I cannot guess.

      Ethelbert.

       Best ask your lady sister,

       Whether the riddle puzzles her beyond

       The power of utterance.

      Conrad.

       Foul barbarian, cease;

       The


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