Scene VIII

Gordon and Butler.

Gordon (looking after them). Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding!
They rush into the outspread net of murder,
In the blind drunkenness of victory;
I have no pity for their fate. This Illo,
This overflowing and fool-hardy villain 5
That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood.

Butler. Do as he ordered you. Send round patroles.
Take measures for the citadel's security;
When they are within I close the castle gate
That nothing may transpire.

Gordon. Oh! haste not so! [10]
Nay, stop; first tell me——

Butler. You have heard already,
To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night
Alone is ours. They make good expedition.
But we will make still greater. Fare you well.

[[777]]Gordon. Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, 15
I pray you, promise me!

Butler. The sun has set;
A fateful evening doth descend upon us,
And brings on their long night! Their evil stars
Deliver them unarmed into our hands.
And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes 20
The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well,
The Duke was ever a great calculator;
His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board,
To move and station, as his game required.
Other men's honour, dignity, good name, 25
Did he shift like pawns, and made no conscience of it:
Still calculating, calculating still;
And yet at last his calculation proves
Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo!
His own life will be found among the forfeits. 30

Gordon. O think not of his errors now; remember
His greatness, his munificence, think on all
The lovely features of his character,
On all the noble exploits of his life,
And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen [35]
Arrest the lifted sword.

Butler. It is too late.
I suffer not myself to feel compassion,
Dark thoughts and bloody are my duty now: [Grasping Gordon's hand.
Gordon! 'Tis not my hatred (I pretend not
To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him) 40
Yet 'tis not now my hatred that impels me
To be his murderer. 'Tis his evil fate.
Hostile concurrences of many events
Control and subjugate me to the office.
In vain the human being meditates 45
Free action. He is but the wire-worked[777:1] puppet
Of the blind power, which out of his own choice
Creates for him a dread necessity.
What too would it avail him, if there were
[[778]] A something pleading for him in my heart— 50
Still I must kill him.