GORDON (rises). The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the orders, Is able to perform. And if indeed For that which thou hast done amiss,-this, this [The GROOM OF THE CHAMBER, who had entered during the last dialogue, and had been stand Butler! "Tis Gordon. I should know that voice. GORDON. BUTLER. What do you want here! ing at a distance and listening to it with Was it so late then, when the Duke dismiss'd you? visible expressions of the deepest interest, ad GORDON. vances in extreme agitation, and throws him- Your hand bound up and in a scarf? And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish He's in my service. Am I then so poor, My servants? Well! to no one I employ BUTLER. "Tis wounded BUTLER. GORDON. Is he in bed? Ah, Butler! BUTLER. Both dead! Gordon, good night! I think to make a long He shall not perish! Of this last day or two was great. May't please you! Refuses your arm. Is he? Speak. GORDON. Not through you' The Heaven See-'tis wounded!— BUTLER. GORDON. [Erit WALLENSTEIN, the GROOM OF THE CHAMBER There is no need of my arm. The most guilty with his eye, till he disappears at the farther Have perish'd, and enough is given to justice. Burst the doors open. SCENE VI. COUNTESS TERTSKY (with a light). Her bed-chamber is empty; she herself Is nowhere to be found! The Neubrunn too, Who watch'd by her, is missing. If she should Be flown-But whither flown? We must call up Every soul in the house. How will the Duke Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O If that my husband now were but return'd Home from the banquet!-Hark! I wonder whether The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard Voices and tread of feet here! I will go And listen at the door. Hark! what is that? "Tis hastening up the steps! Who will be here himself? Octavio In Egra? Treason! Treason!-Where's the Duke? [She rushes to the Gallery. SCENE VIII. [They rush over the body into the gallery-two (Servants run across the Stage full of terror. The whole doors are heard to crash one after the other— Voices deadened by the distance-Clash of Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses). SENI (from the Gallery). arms-then all at once a profound silence. O bloody frightful deed! Within the Duke lies murder'd-and your husband I've but fulfill'd the Emperor's own sentence. [The COUNTESS stands motionless. Fly! fly they murder us all! Heaven forbid! FIRST SERVANT. SECOND SERVANT (carrying silver plate). That way! the lower Passages are block'd up. VOICE (from behind the Scene). Make room for the Lieutenant-General! O curse of kings, OCTAVIO. Infusing a dread life into their words, BUTLER. For what I pull'd the string. You sow'd blood, and yet stand [At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, Astonish'd that blood is come up. I always collects herself, and retires suddenly. VOICE (from behind the Scene). Keep back the people! Guard the door! SCENE IX. To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his Train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from the Corridor with the Halberdiers. -WALLENSTEIN's dead body is carried over the back part of the Stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry. OCTAVIO (entering abruptly). It must not be! It is not possible! I'll not believe it. Say, No! [GORDON, without answering, points with his hand to Here is the golden fleece-the Duke's sword- MACDONALD. They are the fruits OCTAVIO (with a deep anguish). O Countess! my house too is desolate. COUNTESS. Who next is to be murder'd? Who is next The evil destiny surprised my brother Too suddenly: he could not think on them. OCTAVIO. Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you COUNTESS (with her eye raised to heaven) This sure may well be granted us-one sepulchre [He reads the address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word. To the Prince Piccolomini. [OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven. (The Curtain drops.) ACCEPT, as a small testimony of my grateful attachment, the following Dramatic Poem, in which I have endeavored to detail, in an interesting form, the fall of a man, whose great bad actions have cast a dis In the execution of the ACT I. SCENE, The Tuilleries. BARRERE. The tempest gathers-be it mine to seek astrous lustre on his name. He scowl'd upon me with suspicious rage, Yours fraternally, S. T. COLERIDGE. JESUS COLLEGE, September 22, 1794. I know he scorns me-and I feel, I hate him- |