BERTHA.
Say! what can lie
Nearer the good man's heart than friends and kindred!
What dearer duty to a noble soul
Than to protect weak suffering innocence,
And vindicate the rights of the oppress'd?
My very soul bleeds for your countrymen.
I suffer with them, for I needs must love them;
They are so gentle, yet so full of power;
They draw my whole heart to them. Every day
I look upon them with increased esteem.
But you, whom nature and your knightly vow
Have given them as their natural protector,
Yet who desert them and abet their foes
In forging shackles for your native land,
You—you incense and wound me to the core.
It tries me to the utmost not to hate you.
RUDENZ.
Is not my country's welfare all my wish?
What seek I for her but to purchase peace
'Neath Austria's potent sceptre?
BERTHA.
Bondage, rather!
You would drive freedom from the last stronghold
That yet remains for her upon the earth.
The people know their own true int'rests better:
Their simple natures are not warp'd by show.
But round your head a tangling net is wound.
RUDENZ.
Bertha, you hate me—you despise me!
BERTHA.
Nay!
And if I did, 'twere better for my peace.
But to see him despised and despicable—
The man whom one might love—