Old Bathory. Laska, beware! Forget not what thou art!
Should'st thou but dream thou'rt valiant, cross thyself!
And ache all over at the dangerous fancy!

Laska. What then! you swell upon my lady's favour,
High Lords and perilous of one day's growth! 145
But other judges now sit on the bench!
And haply, Laska hath found audience there,
Where to defend the treason of a son
Might end in lifting up both son and father
Still higher; to a height from which indeed [150]
You both may drop, but, spite of fate and fortune,
Will be secured from falling to the ground.
'Tis possible too, young man! that royal Emerick,
At Laska's rightful suit, may make inquiry
By whom seduced, the maid so strangely missing— 155

Bethlen. Soft! my good Laska! might it not suffice,
If to yourself, being Lord Casimir's steward,
I should make record of Glycine's fate?

Laska. 'Tis well! it shall content me! though your fear
Has all the credit of these lowered tones. [160]
First we demand the manner of her death?

Bethlen. Nay! that's superfluous! Have you not just told us,
That you yourself, led by impetuous valour,
Witnessed the whole? My tale's of later date.
After the fate, from which your valour strove 165
In vain to rescue the rash maid, I saw her!

Laska. Glycine?

Bethlen. Nay! Dare I accuse wise Laska,
Whose words find access to a monarch's ear,
[[931]] Of a base, braggart lie? It must have been
Her spirit that appeared to me. But haply [170]
I come too late? It has itself delivered
Its own commission to you?

Old Bathory. 'Tis most likely!
And the ghost doubtless vanished, when we entered
And found brave Laska staring wide—at nothing!

Laska. 'Tis well! You've ready wits! I shall report them, 175
With all due honour, to his Majesty!
Treasure them up, I pray! A certain person,
Whom the king flatters with his confidence,
Tells you, his royal friend asks startling questions!
'Tis but a hint! And now what says the ghost! [180]

Bethlen. Listen! for thus it spake: 'Say thou to Laska,
Glycine, knowing all thy thoughts engrossed
In thy new office of king's fool and knave,
Foreseeing thou'lt forget with thine own hand
To make due penance for the wrongs thou'st caused her, 185
For thy soul's safety, doth consent to take it
From Bethlen's cudgel'—thus. [Beats him off.
Off! scoundrel! off!