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their noses out at the window. Though far distant, and a slave, let me live in thy heart as thou livest in mine:-think not, O friend of my soul, that the splendors of this luxurious capital, its gorgeous palaces, its stupendous mosques, and the beautiful females who run wild in herds about its streets, can obliterate thee from my remembrance. Thy name shall be mentioned in the five-and-twenty prayers which I offer up daily; and may our great prophet, after bestowing on thee all the blessings of this life, at length, in a good old age, lead thee gently by the hand, to enjoy the dignity of bashaw of three tails in the blissful bowers of Eden.

MUSTAPHA.

TRAGEDY.

MEN.

ORRA.-JOANNA BAILLIE.

Persons of the Drama.

HUGHOBERT, Count of Aldenberg.
GLOTTENBAL, his Son.
THEOBOLD OF FALKENSTEIN, a No-
bleman of reduced fortune, and
Co-burgher of Basle.

RUDIGERE, a Knight, and Comman-
der of a Free Company.
HARTMANN, Friend of Theobold,
and Banneret of Basle.
URSTON, a Confessor.

FRANKO, Chief of a band of Out-
laws.

MAURICE, an agent of Rudigere's.
Soldiers, Vassals, Outlaws, &c.
WOMEN.

ORRA, Heiress of another branch of
the family of Aldenberg, and ward
to Hughobert.

ELEANORA, wife to Hughobert.
CATHRINA, Ladies attending on
ALICE,
Orra.

SCENE-Switzerland, in the Canton of Basle, and afterwards in the borders of the Black Forest, in Suabia. TIME-towards the end of the Fourteenth Century.

ACT 1.—Scene 1.—An open space before the walls of a castle, with wild mountains beyond it.

(Enter Glottenbal, armed as from the lists, but bare-headed and disordered, whilst an attendant follows bearing a helmet; with him enters Maurice, followed by Rudigere, also armed, who keeps by himself.)

Glot. (Speaking loud and boastfully.) Aye, let him triumph in his paltry honors,

Won by mere trick and accident.

Good faith!

It were a shame to call it strength or skill.

Were it not Rudigere? (Rudigere answers not.)

Maur. His brow is dark, his tongue is locked, my lord There come no words from him; he bears it not

So manfully as thou dost, noble Glottenbal.

Glot. Fy on't! I mind it not.

Maur. And wherefore should'st thou ?

This same Theobold,

Count and Co-burgher-mixture most unseemly
Of base and noble,-know ye not right well

What powers assist him? Marked you not, my lord,
How he did turn him to the witchy north,

When first he mounted; making his fierce steed,
That pawed and reared, and shook its harnessed neck
In generous pride, bend meekly to the earth

Its mained crest, like one who made obeisance.
Glot. Ha! did'st thou really see it?

Maur. Yes, brave Glottenbal,

I did right truly; and besides myself,
Many observed it.

Glot. Well let him boast.

Boasting I scorn; but I will shortly shew him

What these good arms, with no foul play against them,

Can honestly achieve.

Maur. Yes, good my lord; but choose you well your day: A moonless Friday luck did never bring

To honest combatant.

Glot. Ha! blessing on thee! I ne'er thought of this:

Be sure thou tell to every one thou meet'st,

Friday and a slack moon suit Theobold.
Ho! Rudigere! heard'st thou not this?
Rud. (As he goes off, aside to Maurice.)
Flatter the fool awhile and let me go,
I cannot join thee now.

Glot. Is he not crest-fallen ?

Maur. He lacks your noble spirit.
Glot. Fy upon't!

I heed it not. Yet by my sword and spurs!
'T was a foul turn that, for my rival earned
A branch of victory from Orra's hand.
Maur. Look where he proudly comes.

(Exit.)

(Enter Theobold with a green sprig in his helmet.)

Glot.

Comest thou to face me so? Audacious burgher,

The Lady Orra's favor suits thee not,

Tho' for a time thou hast upon me gained

A seeming vantage.

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Theo. A seeming vantage! Then it is not true,
That thou unhorsed, laid'st rolling in the dust,
Asking for quarters? Let me crave thy pardon;
Some strange delusion hung upon our sight,
That we believed it so.

Glot. Off with thy taunts!

And pull that sprig from its audacious perch:
The favor of a dame too high for thee.

Theo. Too high, indeed, and had'st thou also added
Too good, too fair, I had assented to it.

Yet, be it known unto your courteous worth,

That were the sprig a queen's gift, or received
From the brown hand of some poor mountain maid,
I would not give it thee.

Glot. Then I will have it. (Snatching at it in rage.)
(Enter Hartmann and separates them.)

Hart. What! Malice after fighting in the lists
As noble courteous knights!

Glot. Go, paltry Banneret! Such friends as thou
Become such lords as he, whose ruined state
Seeks the base fellowship of restless burghers;
Thinking to humble still with envious spite,
The great and noble houses of the land.

I know ye well, and I defy ye both. (Exit.)
Theo. And this is he

Whom sordid and ambitious Hughobert,
The guardian in the selfish father sunk,
Destines for Orra's husband.-O foul shame!
The carrion crow and royal eagle joined
Make not so cross a match.

She will submit to it?

But think'st thou

Saving this favor,

Hart. That may be as thou pleasest, Falkenstein.
Theo. Nay! now thou mockest me.
Which every victor in these listed combats
From ladies' hands receive, nor then regard
As more than due and stated courtesy,
She ne'er hath honored me with word or look
Such hope to warrant.

Hart, Wait not thou for looks.

Theo. Thou would'st not have me, to a dame like this,
With rich domains and titled rights encompassed,
These simple limbs, girt in their soldier's gear,
My barren hills and ruined tower present,
And say, "Accept,-these will I nobly give
In fair exchange for thee and all thy wealth."
No Rudolph Hartmann, woo the maid thyself,
If thou hast courage for it.

Hart. Yes, Theobold of Frankenstein, I will,
And win her too; but all for thy behoof.
And when I do present, as thou hast said,
These simple limbs, girt in their soldier's gear,
Adding thy barren hills and ruined tower,
With some few items more of gen'rous worth,
And native sense, and manly fortitude,

I'll give her in return for all that she,

Or any

maid can in such barter give,

Its fair and ample worth.

Theo.

Hart.

So thou dost reckon.

And so will Orra. Do not shake thy head.
I know the maid: for still she has received me
As one who knew her noble father well;
And her stern guardian, viewing these gray hairs
And this rough visage with no jealous eye,
Hath still admitted it-I'll woo her for thee.
Theo. I do in truth believe thou mean'st me well.
Hart. And is this all thou say'st? Is she not fair?
Theo. O fair indeed as woman need be formed,
To please and be beloved. Though, to speak honestly,

I've fairer seen; yet such a form as Orra's

Forever in my busy fancy dwells.

Why wilt thou urge me on to meet her scorn?
I am not worthy of her.

Hart. Go too, I praise thy modesty short while,
And now with dull and senseless perseverance
Thou would'st o'erlay me with it. Go thy ways;
If through thy fault, thus shrinking from the onset,
She with that furious cub be matched, 't will rest
Upon thy conscience, gnawing shrewdly. (Exeunt.)

SCENE 2.--A spacious apartment.-(Enter Hughobert and Urston.)
Hugh. (With angry gesticulation.)

I feed and clothe these drones, and in return

They cheat, deceive, abuse me; nay belike,
Laugh in their sleeves the while. By their advice
This cursed tourney I proclaimed; for still
They puffed me with the praises of my son;
And so in Orra's eyes to give him honor,
Full surely did I think-I'll hang them all!
I'll heap my boards no more with dainty fare,
To feed false flatterers. But, heaven be praised,
He wants not strength at least, and well turned limbs,
Had they but taught him how to use them. Knaves!
They have neglected him.

(Enter Glottenbal, who shrinks back on seeing them.)
Advance, young sir. Art thou afraid of me,
That thus thou shrink'st like a skulking thief,
To make disgrace the more apparent in thee?

Glot. Yes, call it then disgrace, or what you please;
Had not my lance's point somewhat awry
Glanced on his shield-

Hugh. E'en so; I doubt it not;

Thy lance's point, and every thing about thee
Hath glanced awry. Go, rid my house, I say,
Of all those feasting flatterers that deceive thee;
They harbor here no more-dismiss them quickly.
Glot. Do it yourself, my lord; you are,

Angry enough to do it sharply.

Hugh. (to Urston.) Faith!

I trow,

He gibes me fairly here; there's reason in 't;

Fools speak not thus. (to Glot.) Go to! if I am angry,
Thou art a graceless son to tell me so.

Glot. Have you not bid me still to speak the truth? Hugh. (to Urston.) Again thou hearest he makes an apt reply.

Urst. He wants not words.

Hugh. Nor meaning neither. (Enter Eleanora.)

Well, dame, where hast thou been?

Elea. I came from Orra.

Hugh. Hast thou been pleading in our son's excuse?

And how did she receive it?

Elea. I tried to do it, but her present humor

Is jest and merriment. She is behind me.

Glot. (listening.) Aye, she is coming; light and quick her

steps;

So sound they, when her spirits are unruly.

But I am bold; she shall not mock me now.

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