Otho. Are you sure,

Ludolph. you have no saving plea in store?

Ludolph. My father, none!

Otho. Then you astonish me.

Ludolph. No, I have no plea. Disobedience,
Rebellion, obstinacy, blasphemy,
Are all my counsellors. If they can make
My crooked deeds show good and plausible,
Then grant me loving pardon, but not else,
Good gods! not else, in any way, my liege!

Otho. You are a most perplexing noble boy.

Ludolph. You not less a perplexing noble father.

Otho. Well, you shall have free passport through the gates.
Farewell!

Ludolph. Farewell! and by these tears believe,
And still remember, I repent in pain
All my misdeeds!

Otho. Ludolph, I will! I will!
But, Ludolph, ere you go, I would inquire
If you, in all your wandering, ever met
A certain Arab haunting in these parts.

Ludolph. No, my good lord, I cannot say I did.

Otho. Make not your father blind before his time;
Nor let these arms paternal hunger more
For an embrace, to dull the appetite
Of my great love for thee, my supreme child!
Come close, and let me breathe into thine ear.
I knew you through disguise. You are the Arab!
You can’t deny it.

[Embracing him.

Ludolph. Happiest of days!

Otho. We’ll make it so.

Ludolph. ’Stead of one fatted calf
Ten hecatombs shall bellow out their last,
Smote ’twixt the horns by the death-stunning mace
Of Mars, and all the soldiery shall feast
Nobly as Nimrod’s masons, when the towers
Of Nineveh new kissed the parted clouds!

Otho. Large as a God speak out, where all is thine.

Ludolph. Ay, father, but the fire in my sad breast
Is quenched with inward tears! I must rejoice
For you, whose wings so shadow over me
In tender victory, but for myself
I still must mourn. The fair Auranthe mine!
Too great a boon! I pr’ythee let me ask
What more than I know of could so have changed
Your purpose touching her?

Otho. At a word, this:
In no deed did you give me more offence
Than your rejection of Erminia.
To my appalling, I saw too good proof
Of your keen-eyed suspicion,—she is naught.

Ludolph. You are convinced?

Otho. Ay, spite of her sweet looks.

O that my brother’s daughter should so fall!
Her fame has passed into the grosser lips
Of soldiers in their cups.

Ludolph. ’Tis very sad.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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