WALLENSTEIN (remains for a while, with, absent mind, then assumes a livelier manner, and turning suddenly to the COUNTESS).
See him again? O never, never again!
COUNTESS.
How?
WALLENSTEIN.
He is gone—is dust.
COUNTESS.
Whom meanest thou, then?
WALLENST.
He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finish'd!
For him there is no longer any future,
His life is bright—bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap;
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance
Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us?