WER.

Sir, I thank you.

Your offer's noble were it to a friend,

And not unkind as to an unknown stranger,

Though scarcely prudent; but no less I thank you.

I am a beggar in all save his trade,

And when I beg of any one it shall be

Of him who was the first to offer what

Few can obtain by asking. Pardon me. [Exit WER. GAB. (solus). A goodly fellow by his looks, though

worn,

As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure,
Which tear life out of us before our time:

I scarce know which most quickly; but he seems
To have seen better days, as who has not
Who has seen yesterday ?-But here approaches
Our sage intendant, with the wine; however,
For the cup's sake, I'll bear the cup-bearer.

Enter IDENSTEIN.

IDEN. 'Tis here! the supernaculum! twenty years Of age, if 'tis a day.

GAB.

Which epoch makes

Young women and old wine, and 'tis great pity

Of two such excellent things, increase of years,

Which still improves the one, should spoil the other. Fill full-Here's to our hostess-your fair wife.

[Takes the glass.

IDEN. Fair! Well, I trust your taste in wine is equal To that you show for beauty; but I pledge you

Nevertheless.

GAB.

Is not the lovely woman

I met in the adjacent hall, who, with

An air, and port, and eye, which would have better

Beseem'd this palace in its brightest days,

(Though in a garb adapted to its present Abandonment) return'd my salutationIs not the same your spouse?

IDEN.

I would she were!

But you're mistaken-that's the stranger's wife. GAB. And by her aspect she might be a prince's : Though time hath touch'd her too, she still retains Much beauty, and more majesty.

IDEN.

And that

Is more than I can say for Madame Idenstein,

At least in beauty: as for majesty,

She has some of its properties which might
Be spared-but never mind!

GAB.

I don't. But who

May be this stranger? He too hath a bearing

Above his outward fortunes.

IDEN.

There I differ.

He's poor as Job, and not so patient; but
Who he may be, or what, or aught of him,
Except his name (and that I only learn'd
To-night) I know not.

GAB.

But how came he here?

IDEN. In a most miserable old caleche,

About a month since, and immediately

Fell sick, almost to death. He should have died.

GAB. Tender and true!-but why?

IDEN.

Why, what is life

Without a living? He has not a stiver.

GAB. In that case, I much wonder that a person

Of your apparent prudence should admit

Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion.

IDEN. That's true; but pity, as you know, does make

One's heart commit these follies; and besides,
They had some valuables left at that time,
Which paid their way up to the present hour,
And so I thought they might as well be lodged
Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them
The run of some of the oldest palace rooms.

They served to air them, at the least as long

As they could pay for fire wood.

GAB.

IDEN.

Exceeding poor.

GAB.

Poor souls!

Ay,

And yet unused to poverty,

If I mistake not. Whither were they going?

IDEN. Oh! Heaven knows where, unless to heaven

But hark! a noise of wheels and voices, and
A blaze of torches from without. As sure

As destiny, his excellency's come.

I must be at my post: will you not join me,
To help him from his carriage, and present
Your humble duty at the door?

GAB.

I dragg'd him

From out that carriage when he would have given

His barony or county to repel

The rushing river from his gurgling throat.

He has valets now enough: they stood aloof then,
Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore,

All roaring, “Help!" but offering none; and as
For duty (as you call it) I did mine then,

Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him here! IDEN. I cringe!--but I shall lose the opportunity— Plague take it! he'll be here, and I not there!

[Exit IDENSTEIN, hastily.

Re-enter WERNER.

WER. (to himself.) I heard a noise of wheels and

voices. How

All sounds now jar me!

Still here! Is he not

[Perceiving GABOR.

A spy of my pursuer's? His frank offer,

So suddenly, and to a stranger, wore

The aspect of a secret enemy;

For friends are slow at such.

GAB.

Sir, you seem rapt,

And yet the time is not akin to thought.

These old walls will be noisy soon. The baron,

Or count (or whatsoe'er this half-drown'd noble
May be) for whom this desolate village, and
Its lone inhabitants, show more respect

Than did the elements, is come.