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With Fortune win or weary her at last,
So that they find the goal or cease to feel
Further. Take comfort, we shall find our boy.
Wer. We were in sight of him, of every thing
Which could bring compensation for past sorrow-
And to be baffled thus !

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We are not baffled.
Wer. Are we not penniless?
We ne'er were wealthy.
Wer. But I was born to wealth, and rank, and
Enjoy'd them, loved them, and, alas! abused them,
And forfeited them by my father's wrath,

In my o'er-fervent youth; but for the abuse
Long sufferings have atoned. My father's death
Left the path open, yet not without snares.
This cold and creeping kinsman, who so long
Kept his eye on me, as the snake upon
The fluttering bird, hath ere this time outstept me,
Become the master of my rights, and lord
Of that which lifts him up to princes in
Dominion and domain.

Who knows? our son
May have return'd back to his grandsire, and
Even now uphold thy rights for thee?

Wer. 'Tis hopeless. Since his strange disappearance from my father's, Entailing, as it were, my sins upon Himself, no tidings have reveal'd his course. I parted with him to his grandsire, on The promise that his anger would stop short Of the third generation; but Heaven seems To claim her stern prerogative, and visit Upon my boy his father's faults and follies.

Jos. I must hope better still,—at least we have yet Baffled the long pursuit of Stralenheim. [ness; Wer. We should have done, but for this fatal sickMore fatal than a mortal malady, Because it takes not life, but life's sole solace: Even now I feel my spirit girt about By the snares of this avaricious fiend; How do I know he hath not track'd us here ?

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wasted, not alone my strength, but means, and leaves us no! this is beyond me! but for this I had been happy." This is, indeed, beyond us. If this be poetry, then we were wrong in taking his Lordship's preface for prose. It will run on ten feet as well as the rest.

"Some of the characters are modified

Or altered, a few of the names changed, and One character, Ida of Stralenheim,

Jos. He does not know thy person; and his spies,
Who so long watch'd thee, have been left at Hamburgh.
Our unexpected journey, and this change
Of name, leaves all discovery far behind:
None holds us here for aught save what we seem.
Wer. Save what we seem! save what we are-
sick beggars,

Even to our very hopes. Ha! ha!

That bitter laugh!


Wer. Who would read in this form The high soul of the son of a long line? Who, in this garb, the heir of princely lands? Who, in this sunken, sickly eye, the pride Of rank and ancestry? in this worn cheek And famine-hollow'd brow, the lord of halls Which daily feast a thousand vassals?

Jos. You Ponder'd not thus upon these worldly things, My Werner! when you deign'd to choose for bride The foreign daughter of a wandering exile.

Wer. An exile's daughter with an outcast son Were a fit marriage; but I still had hopes To lift thee to the state we both were born for. Your father's house was noble, though decay'd; And worthy by its birth to match with ours. [noble ; Jos. Your father did not think so, though 't was But had my birth been all my claim to match With thee, I should have deem'd it what it is. Wer. And what is that in thine eyes? Jos.

All which it


Has done in our behalf, nothing.
How, nothing?
Jos. Or worse; for it has been a canker in
Thy heart from the beginning but for this,
We had not felt our poverty but as
Millions of myriads feel it, cheerfully;
But for these phantoms of thy feudal fathers,
Thou mightst have earn'd thy bread, as thousands
earn it;

Or, if that seem too humble, tried by commerce,
Or other civic means, to amend thy fortunes.

Wer. (ironically). And been an Hanseatic burgher?

Jos. Whate'er thou mightst have been, to me thou What no state high or low can ever change,

My heart's first choice ; — which chose thee, knowing neither [sorrows: Thy birth, thy hopes, thy pride; nought, save thy While they last, let me comfort or divide them; When they end, let mine end with them, or thee!

Wer. My better angel! such I have ever found thee;

This rashness, or this weakness of my temper,
Ne'er raised a thought to injure thee or thine.
Thou didst not mar my fortunes: my own nature
In youth was such as to unmake an empire,
Had such been my inheritance; but now,
Chasten'd, subdued, out-worn, and taught to know
Myself, to lose this for our son and thee !
Trust me, when, in my two-and-twentieth spring,

Added by myself; but in the rest the
Original is chiefly followed. When

I was young (about fourteen, I think) I

First read this tale, which made a deep impression Upon me "

Nor is there a line in these so lame and halting, but we could

point out many in the drama as bad. - CAMPBELL.]

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And if you had not, I've no wine to offer,
Else it were yours: but this you know, or should know:
You see I am poor, and sick, and will not see
That I would be alone; but to your business!
What brings you here?

Why, what should bring me here?
Wer. I know not, though I think that I could guess
That which will send you hence.
Jos. (aside).
Patience, dear Werner!
Iden. You don't know what has happen'd, then?
How should we?

Iden. The river has o'erflow'd. Jos. Alas! we have known That to our sorrow for these five days; since It keeps us here. Iden. But what you don't know is, That a great personage, who fain would cross Against the stream and three postilions' wishes, Is drown'd below the ford, with five post-horses, A monkey, and a mastiff, and a valet.

Jos. Poor creatures! are you sure? Iden. Yes, of the monkey, And the valet, and the cattle; but as yet We know not if his excellency's dead Or no; your noblemen are hard to drown, As it is fit that men in office should be ; But what is certain is, that he has swallow'd Enough of the Oder to have burst two peasants; And now a Saxon and Hungarian traveller, Who, at their proper peril, snatch'd him from The whirling river, have sent on to crave A lodging, or a grave, according as

It may turn out with the live or dead body.

Jos. And where will you receive him? here, I hope,

If we can be of service- say the word.

Iden. Here? no; but in the prince's own apartment, As fits a noble guest: 't is damp, no doubt, Not having been inhabited these twelve years; But then he comes from a much damper place, So scarcely will catch cold in 't, if he be Still liable to cold- and if not, why He'll be worse lodged to-morrow: ne'ertheless, I have order'd fire and all appliances To be got ready for the worst- that is, In case he should survive.


Poor gentleman!

I hope he will, with all my heart.
Have you not learn'd his name? My Josephine,

[Aside to his wife.

Retire I'll sift this fool.
His name? oh Lord!
Who knows if he hath now a name or no?
'Tis time enough to ask it when he 's able
To give an answer; or if not, to put
His heir's upon his epitaph. Methought
Just now you chid me for demanding names?
Wer. True, true, I did so; you say well and wisely.

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His excellency -
Gab. I do not know.

And yet you saved his life.
Gab. I help'd my friend to do so.
Well, that's strange,
To save a man's life whom you do not know.
Gab. Not so; for there are some I know so well,
I scarce should give myself the trouble.

Good friend, and who may you be?

Which is call'd?

It matters little.

Iden. (aside). I think that all the world are grown anonymous,

Since no one cares to tell me what he 's call'd!
Pray, has his excellency a large suite ?


By my family,


Iden. How many? Gab. I did not count them. We came up by mere accident, and just In time to drag him through his carriage window. Iden. Well, what would I give to save a great man! No doubt you'll have a swingeing sum as recompense. Gab. Perhaps. Iden. Now, how much do you reckon on ? Gab. I have not yet put up myself to sale: In the mean time, my best reward would be A glass of your Hockcheimer—a green glass, Wreath'd with rich grapes and Bacchanal devices, O'erflowing with the oldest of your vintage; For which I promise you, in case you e'er Run hazard of being drown'd, (although I own It seems, of all deaths, the least likely for you,) I'll pull you out for nothing. Quick, my friend, And think, for every bumper I shall quaff, A wave the less may roll above your head.


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They lay their hands on. All Silesia and
Lusatia's woods are tenanted by bands
Of the late troops, who levy on the country
Their maintenance: the Chatelains must keep
Their castle walls-beyond them 't is but doubtful
Travel for your rich count or full-blown baron.
My comfort is that, wander where I may,
I've little left to lose now.

You say you were a

Wer. And I-nothing. Gab. That's harder still. soldier. Wer. I was. Gab. You look one still. All soldiers are Or should be comrades, even though enemies. Our swords when drawn must cross, our engines aim (While levell'd) at each other's hearts; but when A truce, a peace, or what you will, remits The steel into its scabbard, and lets sleep The spark which lights the matchlock, we are brethren. You are poor and sickly I am not rich, but


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Gab. But how came he here? Iden. In a most miserable old caleche, About a month since, and immediately Fell sick, almost to death. He should have died. Gab. Tender and true!-but why? Iden.

Exceeding poor.


If I mistake not.

Without a living? He has not a stiver.

Gab. In that case, I much wonder that a person Of your apparent prudence should admit Guests so forlorn into this noble mansion.


Iden. That's true; but pity, as you know, does One's heart commit these follies; and besides, They had some valuables left at that time, Which paid their way up to the present hour; And so I thought they might as well be lodged Here as at the small tavern, and I gave them The run of some of the oldest palace rooms. They served to air them, at the least as long As they could pay for fire-wood.


Poor souls!


Why, what is life

And yet unused to poverty, Whither were they going?

Iden. Oh! Heaven knows where, unless to heaven


Some days ago that look'd the likeliest journey
For Werner.

Gab. Werner! I have heard the name: But it may be a feign'd one.

Like enough!

But hark! a noise of wheels and voices, and
A blaze of torches from without. As sure
As destiny, his excellency 's come.

I must be at my post: will you not join me,
To help him from his carriage, and present
Your humble duty at the door?

voices. How

All sounds now jar me! Still here! Is he not


I dragg'd him
From out that carriage when he would have given
His barony or county to repel

The rushing river from his gurgling throat.
He has valets now enough: they stood aloof then,
Shaking their dripping ears upon the shore,
All roaring "Help!" but offering none; and as
For duty (as you call it)—I did mine then,
Now do yours. Hence, and bow and cringe him here!
Iden. I cringe !- but I shall lose the opportunity —
Plague take it! he'll be here, and I not there!
[Erit IDENSTEIN hastily.

Re-enter WERNER. Wer. (to himself). I heard a noise of wheels and

A spy of my pursuer's ? His frank offer So suddenly, and to a stranger, wore

The aspect of a secret enemy;

For friends are slow at such.

[Perceiving GABOR.

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The staircase is a little gloomy, and
Somewhat decay'd; but if we had expected
So high a guest-Pray take my arm, my lord!

Enter STRALENHEIM, IDENSTEIN, and Attendants partly his own, and partly Retainers of the Domain of which IDENSTEIN is Intendant.

Stral. I'll rest me here a moment.
Iden. (to the servants).
Instantly, knaves !

Wer. (aside).

"Tis he!

Ho! a chair!

[STRALENHEIM sits down.

I'm better now.

His noble memory.

I apprehend

This is one of the strangers to whose aid
I owe my rescue. Is not that the other?

Who are these strangers?
One says he is no stranger.
Wer. (aloud and hastily). Who says that?
[They look at him with surprise.
Iden. Why, no one spoke of you, or to you ! — but
Here's one his excellency may be pleased
To recognise.

[Pointing to GABOR.

I seek not to disturb

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My state when I was succour'd must excuse My uncertainty to whom I owe so much.

(Aside.) Somewhat tatter'd,
And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch-light;
Please you, my good lord, And that's enough for your right noble blood
Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment;

So let their bearer sleep 'neath something like one
Now, as he one day will for ever lie.

Stral. (rising and turning to GABOR). Good night,
good people! Sir, I trust to-morrow
Will find me apter to requite your service.
In the mean time I crave your company
A moment in my chamber.

[Pointing to WERNER.

Iden. He!-no, my lord, he rather wants for rescue Than can afford it. 'T is a poor sick man, Travel-tired, and lately risen from a bed From whence he never dream'd to rise.



That there were two.

Gab. There were, in company; But, in the service render'd to your lordship, I needs must say but one, and he is absent. The chief part of whatever aid was render'd Was his it was his fortune to be first. My will was not inferior, but his strength And youth outstripp'd me; therefore do not waste Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second Unto a nobler principal.



Where is he?

An Atten. My lord, he tarried in the cottage where Your excellency rested for an hour,

And said he would be here to-morrow.


That hour arrives, I can but offer thanks, And then

His father, rising from his grave again, Would pass him by unknown.

An error would spoil all

I seek no more, and scarce deserve
So much. My comrade may speak for himself.
Stral. (fixing his eyes upon WERNER: then aside).
It cannot be and yet he must be look'd to.
'T is twenty years since I beheld him with
These eyes; and, though my agents still have kept
Theirs on him, policy has held aloof

My own from his, not to alarm him into
Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave

At Hamburgh those who would have made assurance
If this be he or no? I thought, ere now,
To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted
In haste, though even the elements appear
To fight against me, and this sudden flood
May keep me prisoner here till.

[He pauses, and looks at WERNER; then resumes.

This man must If it is he, he is so changed,

Be watch'd.

I must be wary:

Your lordship seems
Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on?
Stral. 'Tis past fatigue which gives my weigh'd-
down spirit

An outward show of thought. I will to rest.
Iden. The prince's chamber is prepared, with all
The very
furniture the prince used when
Last here, in its full splendour.

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When I know it such,

I will requite—that is, reply in unison.
Stral. The intendant said, you had been detain'd
by sickness-

If I could aid you-journeying the same way?
Wer. (quickly). I am not journeying the same way!
How know ye
That, ere you know my route?


Because there is

But one way that the rich and poor must tread
Together. You diverged from that dread path
Some hours ago, and I some days: henceforth
Our roads must lie asunder, though they tend
All to one home.


Your language is above

Your station.

Or, at least, beyond

Wer. (bitterly). Is it?
Your garb.
Wer. "T is well that it is not beneath it,
As sometimes happens to the better clad.
But, in a word, what would you with me?
Stral. (startled).

Wer. Yes-you! You know me not, and question


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