Boh. I do consent—provided Godfrey will
Return my glove to the brave Count of Thoulouse—
Alex. That’s nobly done Bohemond—but the war
’Twixt you and Thoulouse, is a war of words—
Like two pert game cocks picking at a straw,
You doubt each other’s courage—then make proof
Upon the Paynim forces if you please,
Which is the braver man—To-morrow’s field
Will afford ample scope to try your blades
Upon the common enemy of each,
And leave unscathed his ally—I propose,
That he who first shall scale the citadel,
And plant the Red-Cross banner on the walls,
Shall be rewarded with the victor’s prize,
And hold the government of Antioch—
What says the council?—
All the Chiefs. We are all agreed.—
(Bohemond and Raymond advance and shake hands in apparent token of agreement.)
[Enter a Greek Messenger.]
Mes. The Persian succors are but one day’s march,
Beyond the Orontes.—
God. Why let them come and help to bury then,
Their Paynim brothers.—Friends, I give you joy—
Curse on my fortune, I do much regret
The iv’ry tushes of that ruthless boar,
Will keep me from the contest for fair fame.—
Bohemond, you shall lead my Frisons on—
And doubt not but you’ll win the prize from Thoulouse.—
Boh. I thank your grace.
[Zebulon Rudulph.]
Zebulon Rudulph was the second son of Tobias Rudulph, an account of whose family is given elsewhere in this volume. He was born in Elkton, June 28, 1794. Though well remembered by some of the older residents of the place of his nativity who knew him when they were young, but little is known of his early life except that he was possessed of a kind heart and an affable disposition; and appears to have been more given to the cultivation of his literary tastes, than to the practice of those utilitarian traits which had they been more highly developed, would have enabled him to have reaped a richer pecuniary harvest than fell to his lot from the cultivation of the others.