CHARLES. Thou hast said well; and wilt have done better, if thou never seekest to know. Brother, I have looked on men, their insect cares and their giant projects,—their god-like plans and mouse-like occupations, their intensely eager race after happiness—one trusting to the fleetness of his horse,—another to the nose of his ass,—a third to his own legs; this checkered lottery of life, in which so many stake their innocence and their leaven to snatch a prize, and,—blanks are all they draw—for they find, too late, that there was no prize in the wheel. It is a drama, brother, enough to bring tears into your eyes, while it shakes your sides with laughter.
SCHWARZ. How gloriously the sun is setting yonder!
CHARLES (absorbed in the scene). So dies a hero! Worthy of adoration!
SCHWARZ. You seem deeply moved.
CHARLES. When I, was but a boy—it was my darling thought to live like him, like him to die—(with suppressed grief.) It was a boyish thought!
GRIMM. It was, indeed.
CHARLES. There was a time—(pressing his hat down upon his face). I would be alone, comrades.
SCHWARZ. Moor! Moor! Why, what the deuce! How his color changes.
GRIMM. By all the devils! What ails him? Is he ill?
CHARLES. There was a time when I could not have slept had I forgotten my evening prayers.