Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/376

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OTHO THE GREAT.
 Erminia. If you have any pity for a maid,Suffering a daily death from evil tongues;Any compassion for that Emperor's niece,Who, for your bright sword and clear honesty,Lifted you from the crowd of common menInto the lap of honor;—save me, knight!
 Albert. How? Make it clear; if it be possible,I by the banner of Saint Maurice swearTo right you.
 Erminia. Possible!—Easy. O my heart!This letter's not so soil'd but you may read it;Possible! There—that letter. Read—read it.[Gives him a letter. 
Albert (Reading). "To the Duke Conrad.—Forget the threat youmade at parting, and I will forget to send the Emperor letters and papers of yours I have become possessed of. His life is no trifle to me; his death you shall find none to yourself." (Speaks to himself.) 'Tis me—my life that's pleaded for! (Reads.) "He, for his own sake, will be dumb as the grave. Erminia has my shame fix'd upon her, sure as a wen. We are Auranthe."safe.
A she-devil! A dragon! I her imp!Fire of Hell! Auranthe—lewd demon!Where got you this? Where? When?
 Erminia. I found it in the tent, among some spoilsWhich, being noble, fell to Gersa's lot.[They go in and return.Come in, and see.
 Albert. Villany! Villany!
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