RUDENZ.
Oh, Bertha. You
Show me the pinnacle of heavenly bliss,
Then, in a moment, hurl me to despair!
BERTHA.
No, no! the noble is not all extinct
Within you. It but slumbers—I will rouse it.
It must have cost you many a fiery struggle
To crush the virtues of your race within you.
But, heaven be praised, 'tis mightier than yourself,
And you are noble in your own despite!
RUDENZ.
You trust me, then? Oh, Bertha, with thy love
What might I not become!
BERTHA.
Be only that
For which your own high nature destin'd you.
Fill the position you were born to fill;—
Stand by your people and your native land,
And battle for your sacred rights!
RUDENZ.
Alas!
How can I win you—how can you be mine,
If I take arms against the Emperor?
Will not your potent kinsmen interpose
To dictate the disposal of your hand?