Hans Lorbass. If I choose to cry him down, why it is my affair. I advise thee, old man, to let it be.
Cölestin. Have I ever yet mingled with the crowd that boldly raise their heads against him? But now the foe hangs at our very heels,--and he, instead of showing fist in need, buries a thorn in our own flesh;-- must I still be silent?
Hans Lorbass. Gabble or not, as thou choosest. Dost thou think the slime out of thy old mouth can make him slippery enough to--
Cölestin. Hark! [A muffled drum-beat]. The morning signal of the foe!
Hans Lorbass [stretching out his arms]. Come, mighty hour!
Cölestin. There is one way ... some one might ... with more influence than I ... seek out the King and fetch him here. The tardy day still lies in heavy sleep . . wilt thou go? [Hans Lorbass nods.]
Cölestin. Good! [Going out.] I am cold.
Hans Lorbass. What? All empty?... Thou shadow there, give answer what thou art. What, Goldhair, thou? Asleep here on the stones? Where is the King?... The King, where is he?
Anna Goldhair [gets up trembling]. I do not know.
Hans Lorbass. Is he asleep somewhere?