As a somnambulist, look, on that bench,
Whither in sleep, as you would ne'er believe,
The moonshine lured him, vaguely occupied
Imagining himself posterity
And weaving for his brow the crown of fame.
ELECTOR. What!
HOHENZOLL. Oh, indeed! Look down here: there he sits!
[From the terrace he throws the light on the PRINCE.]
ELECTOR. In slumber sunk? Impossible!
HOHENZOLLERN. In slumber
Sunk as he is, speak but his name—he drops.
[Pause.]
ELECTRESS. Sure as I live, the youth is taken ill.
NATALIE. He needs a doctor's care—
ELECTRESS. We should give help,
Not waste time, gentlemen, meseems, in scorn.