Will no more stir a finger now than then.
Hence! hence! I must not hear your answer -- Look! 580 The stars are almost faded, and the grey
Begins to grizzle the black hair of night.
You shall not answer -- Pardon me that I
Am peremptory; 't is your son that speaks,
Your long-lost, late-found son. -- Let's call my mother!
Softly and swiftly step, and leave the rest
To me: I'll answer for the event as far
As regards you,and that is the chief point,
As my first duty which shall be observed.
We'll meet in Castle Siegendorf -- once more 590 Our banners shall be glorious! Think of that
Alone, and leave all other thoughts to me,
Whose youth may better battle with them.
And may your age be happy! -- I will kiss
My mother once more, then Heaven's speed be with you!
Wer. This counsel's safe -- but is it honourable?
Ulr. To save a father is a child's chief honour. [Exeunt.
A Gothic Hall in the Castle of Siegendorf, near Prague. Enter Enic and HENRICK, Retainers of the Count.
Eric. So better times are come at last; to these Old walls new masters and high wassail, both A long desideratum.
Hen. Yes, for masters, It might be unto those who long for novelty, Though made by a new grave: but as for wassail, Methinks the old Count Siegendorf maintain'd His feudal hospitality as high As e'er another prince of the empire.
For the mere cup and trencher, we no doubt
Fared passing well; but as for merriment
And sport, without which salt and sauces season 11 The cheer but scantily, our sizings were
Even of the narrowest.
Hen. The old count loved not The roar of revel; are you sure that this does?
Eric. As yet he hath been courteous as he's bounteous, And we all love him.
Hen. His reign is as yet Hardly a year o'erpast its honeymoon, And the first year of sovereigns is bridal: Anon, we shall perceive his real sway And moods of mind.
Eric. Pray Heaven he keep the present! 20
Then his brave son, Count Ulric -- there's
Pity the wars are o'er!
Hen. Why so?
Eric. Look on him! And answer that yourself.
Hen. He's very youthful, And strong and beautiful as a young tiger.
Eric. That's not a faithful vassal's likeness.
Hen. But Perhaps a true one.
Eric. Pity, as I said,
The wars are over: in the hall, who like
Count Ulric for a well-supported pride,
Which awes, but yet offends not? in the field,
Who like him with his spear in hand, when, gnashing 30 His tusks and ripping up from right to left
The howling hounds, the boar makes for the thicket?
Who backs a horse, or bears a hawk, or wears
A sword like him? Whose plume nods knightlier?
Hen. No one's, I grant you. Do not fear, if war Be long in coming, he is of that kind Will make it for himself, if he hath not Already done as much.
Eric. What do you mean?
Hen. You can't deny his train of followers (But few our native fellow vassals born 40 On the domain) are such a sort of knaves As -- (Pauses.)
Hen. The war (you love so much) leaves living. Like other parents, she spoils her worst children.