FREDERICK alone, with a few pieces of money which he turns about in his hands.
FREDERICK.
To return with this trifle for which I have stooped to beg! return to see my mother dying! I would rather fly to the world’s end. [Looking at the money.] What can I buy with this? It is hardly enough to pay for the nails that will be wanted for her coffin. My great anxiety will drive me to distraction. However, let the consequence of our affliction be what it may, all will fall upon my father’s head; and may he pant for Heaven’s forgiveness, as my poor mother —— [At a distance is heard the firing of a gun, then the cry of Hallo, Hallo—Gamekeepers and Sportsmen run across the stage—he looks about.] Here they come—a nobleman, I suppose, or a man of fortune. Yes, yes—and I will once more beg for my mother.—May Heaven send relief!
Enter the BARON followed slowly by the COUNT. The BARON stops.
BARON.
Quick, quick, Count! Aye, aye, that was a blunder indeed. Don’t you see the dogs? There they run—they have lost the scent. [Exit Baron looking after the dogs.
COUNT.
So much the better, Colonel, for I must take a little breath. [He leans on his gun—Frederick goes up to him with great modesty.]
FREDERICK.
Gentleman, I beg you will bestow from your superfluous wants something to relieve the pain, and nourish the weak frame, of an expiring woman.
The BARON re-enters.
COUNT.
What police is here! that a nobleman’s amusements should be interrupted by the attack of vagrants.
FREDERICK.
[to the Baron]. Have pity, noble Sir, and relieve the distress of an unfortunate son, who supplicates for his dying mother.
BARON.
[taking out his purse]. I think, young soldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, instead of begging.