_Emma._ [_Reviving._] Thou dost forget thyself To so address—I had forgot!—but this Is holy silk.
_Guta._ If I should contradict 'Twould be for sake of bickering. The holes Are plain enough. Thou seem'st to treasure them, And yet the hole thou comest from is lined With gold, they say.
_Guta._ [_Addressing Emma._] 'Tis true. Take no affront. But if I may not talk, who will? a silence Is often more discourteous than words And gives the Devil chance—
[_The noise of some one approaching is heard._]
_Ernst._ To show his horns. And thou hast said it! hush! hush—
_Guta._ The devil in disguise! Or is't our friend in troth? I know not friend From enemy.
_Eginhardt._ [_Embracing Emma._] My sweetheart, how cam'st thou here? Alone? without a following? thy hair Unbound, a rivulet of gold! Or art Thou but a bloodless figment, a fancy born Of seething thought? Nay, nay, 'tis Paradise My lagging steps have mounted unawares And thou'rt my angel guide.
_Emma._ [_Sinking in his arms._] O Eginhardt, 'Tis peace at last!
_Ernst._ [_Addressing Guta._] She seeks a younger prey Than us old folk and one, methinks, that's more Susceptible; but we must warn—
_Guta._ Let us Away, advise good Father Hildebold. He'll exorcise with book and candle.
_Ernst._ And while Our backs are turned what harm may come. I'll pluck His sleeve and warn. Dear Master Eginhardt, I'd speak with you.
_Ernst._ Not here, but step Aside; one moment! pray.
_Eginhardt._ Think'st thou I'd tempt The winds? All day they've strangely whirled. But now The air is still, this precious burden rests With me. If I should loose my grasp might not Some mischievous air-current spirit her Afar.
_Eginhardt._ Man, Thou must be mad to e'en suggest the thought. Has dotage crept thus suddenly? Begone, Let thy old wife coax reason back.
_Emma._ A poor Instructor! She's mad as he.
_Guta._ O Master, you Alone are crazed. Quick cross yourself, break loose, Use Latin words, delve deep within your learning; From useless lumber pluck some magic art; Whose strength will free from love's bewitching power, From spectral glamour.
_Eginhardt._ Break loose from love? O Guta; Each golden hair, that showers its wealth about This yielding form, holds me in closer bondage Than shackling chains of adamant. Break loose From love? this head, that leans its gentle weight, Impresses more than all the rolling skies That bowed great-shouldered Atlas, steadying. Break loose from love? 'Twould be a harsher fall, Than Satan's fierce descent from Heaven's peace To Hell's contentious flame. Break loose from love? Not while there's breath to seal its troth, to pledge Its honour. [_He kisses Emma._]