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Oct. (more urgently) Come with me, I command thee! I, thy father.

Max. Command me what is human. I stay here.
Oct. Max! in the Emperor's name I bid thee come.
Max. No Emperor hath power to prescribe

Laws to the heart; and would'st thou wish to rob me
Of the sole blessing which my fate has left me,
Her sympathy. Must then a cruel deed

Be done with cruelty? The unalterable
Shall I perform ignobly-steal away,

With stealthy coward flight forsake her? No!
She shall behold my suffering, my sore anguish,
Hear the complaints of the disparted soul,
And weep tears o'er me. O! the human race
Have steely souls-but she is as an angel.
From the black deadly madness of despair
Will she redeem my soul, and in soft words
Of comfort, plaining, loose this pang of death!
Oct. Thou wilt not tear thyself away, thou canst not.
O, come, my son! I bid thee save thy virtue.

Max. Squander not thou thy words in vain ;
The heart I follow, for I dare trust to it.

Oct. (trembling, and losing all self-command) Max!
Max! if that most damned thing could be,
If thou-my son-my own blood-(dare I think it?)
Do sell thyself to him, the infamous ;

Do stamp this brand upon our noble house,
Then shall the world behold the horrible deed,
And in unnatural combat shall the steel

Of the son trickle with the father's blood.

Max. O hadst thou always better thought of men, Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion ! Unholy miserable doubt! To him

AN

Nothing on earth remains unwrench'd and firm,

Who has no faith.

Oct.

And if I trust thy heart,

Will it be always in thy power to follow it?

Max. The heart's voice thou hast not o'erpower'd-as

little

Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it.

Oct. O Max! I see thee never more again!
Max. Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me.
Oct. I go to Frauenberg-the Pappenheimers
I leave thee here, the Lothrings too; Toskana
And Tiefenbach remain here to protect thee.
They love thee, and are faithful to their oath,
And will far rather fall in gallant contest
Than leave their rightful leader, and their honour.
Max. Rely on this, I either leave my life

In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen.
Oct. Farewell, my son!

Max.

Oct.

Farewell!

How? not one look

Of filial love? No grasp of the hand at parting?

It is a bloody war, to which we are going,
And the event uncertain and in darkness.

So us'd we not to part-it was not so!

Is it then true? I have a son no longer?

(Max. falls into his arms, they hold each other for a
long time in a speechless embrace, then go away
at different sides. The curtain drops.)

THE

DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN.

A TRAGEDY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

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