2C THE TEMPLARS IX CITRUS. [ACT I. COMMANDER. Why stand you there nnd gnpo like prattling women ? "What ? llavo you nought to do ? GOTTFRIED. Wo met by chance, Just here, and one word led up to another. COMMANDER. Ay ! there's no lack of words, that I know well. But as for deeds ! God mend it !— GOTTFRIED. Any way Thero's Robert who does nothing. Even now He strolls tho forest careless with his hound. There came;— CnARLOT (quickly and aside to him). Hush, pray ! Who'd be a tale-bearer ? COMMANDER. Whst hast to do with Robert ? Hast thou won Liko him three Horse-tails ? 1 Hast thou put to flight Five hundred Turks -with fifty men, like him ? Yet ho is too, a giddy-pate, God mend it ! On whom one must not leave the bridle loose. GOTTFRIED. "What's more,—to-day's his turn at Chapter wratch. _ COMMANDER. And goes to hunt, the scape-grace ! Well, God mend it. Ho knows the service ; he will soon como back. C HARLOT. Host Valorous ! COMMANDER. Well !—What sort of loom-product Turkish standards or ensigns.—Trans.