The Man. Are there any cartridges left?
Jacob. Neither balls nor grapeshot: everything has its end!
The Man. Bring then my son to me; I would embrace him once more!
Exit Jacob.
The smoke from the powder has dimmed my eyes; it seems to me as if the valley were swelling up to my feet, and again sinking back to its place; the socks crack, and cross each other at a thousand angles, and my thoughts wander, flicker, quiver in the most fantastic forms. (Seats himself upon a wall.) It is not worth the trouble to be a man—nor even an angel; the highest archangel must feel, after some centuries of existence, as we do after a few years of our fleeting life, utter weariness in his soul, and long, as we do, for mightier powers! Either one must be God—or nothing....
Enter Jacob with George.
Take some of the men with you, go through the castle, and drive all before you upon the walls!
Jacob. Counts, princes, bankers?
Exit Jacob.
The Man. Come to me, my dearest son! place thy thin hands in mine, while I press my lips upon thy pure forehead; thy mother's brow was once as white and smooth!