To heave the unwilling weight, I learn'd her title.

 Count. The Lady Isabel?

 Theod. The same. A gleam,

   Shot from their torches, who pursued her track,

   Prevented more; she hasten'd to the cave,

   And vanish'd from my sight.

 Count. And did no awe,

   No fear of him, she call'd this castle's lord,

   Its tyrant, chill thee?

 Theod. Awe, nor fear, I know not,

   And trust, shall never; for I know not guilt.

 Count. Then thou, it seems, art master here, not I;

   Thou canst control my projects, blast my schemes,

   And turn to empty air my power in Narbonne.

   Nay, should my daughter chuse to fly my castle,

[pg 14]

[pg 14]

   Against my bidding, guards and bolts were vain:

   This frize-clad champion, gallant Theodore,

   Would lend his ready arm, and mock my caution.

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