OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt not tear thyself away; thou canst not.
Oh, 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.
OCTAVIO (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.
Oh, hadst thou always better thought of men,
Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion,
Unholy, miserable doubt! To him
Nothing on earth remains unwrenched and firm
Who has no faith.
OCTAVIO.
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'erpowered—as little
Will Wallenstein be able to o'erpower it.
OCTAVIO.
O, Max.! I see thee never more again!
MAX.
Unworthy of thee wilt thou never see me.
OCTAVIO.
I go to Frauenberg—the Pappenheimers
I leave thee here, the Lothrings too; Tsokana
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 honor.
MAX.
Rely on this, I either leave my life
In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen.