WALLENSTEIN.
Give her sorrow leave to talk!
Let her complain—mingle your tears with hers,
For she hath suffer'd a deep anguish; but
She'll rise superior to it, for my Thekla
Hath all her father's unsubdued heart.
THEKLA.
I am not ill. See, I have power to stand.
Why does my mother weep? Have I alarm'd her?
It is gone by—I recollect myself—
[She casts her eyes round the room, as seeking some one.]
Where is he? Please you, do not hide him from me.
You see I have strength enough: now I will hear him.
DUCHESS.
No; never shall this messenger of evil
Enter again into thy presence, Thekla!
THEKLA.
My father—