MARSHAL (continues).
Until, hard pressed by Hennings and by
Truchsz—
THE PRINCE (looking over GOLZ's shoulder).
Who, my dear Golz? What? I?
GOLZ. Why, yes. Who else
THE PRINCE. I shall not budge—
GOLZ. That's it.
MARSHAL. Well, have you got it
THE PRINCE (aloud).
Shall budge not from my designated place.
[He writes.]
MARSHAL. Until, hard pressed by Hennings and by
Truchsz— [He pauses.]
The left wing of the enemy, dissolved,
Plunges upon its right, and wavering
The massed battalions crowd into the plain,
Where, in the marsh, criss-crossed by ditch on ditch,
The plan intends that they be wholly crushed.
ELECTOR. Lights, pages! Come, my dear, your arm,
and yours.