Max. O hadst thou always better thought of men,
Thou hadst then acted better. Curst suspicion! [70]
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'erpower'd—as little 75
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; Toskana 80
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 honour.
Max. Rely on this, I either leave my life 85
In the struggle, or conduct them out of Pilsen.
Octavio. Farewell, my son!
Max. Farewell!
Octavio. How? not one look
Of filial love? No grasp of the hand at parting?
It is a bloody war, to which we are going,
And the event uncertain and in darkness. 90
So used we not to part—it was not so!
Is it then true? I have a son no longer?