The Works of Frederick Schiller - BestLightNovel.com
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[They move towards the tent.
SCENE II.
The above--Sergeant-Major, Trumpeter, Hulan.
TRUMPETER.
What would the boor? Out, rascal, away!
PEASANT.
Some victuals and drink, worthy masters, I pray, For not a warm morsel we've tasted to day.
TRUMPETER.
Ay, guzzle and guttle--'tis always the way.
HULAN (with a gla.s.s).
Not broken your fast! there--drink, ye hound!
He leads the peasant to the tent--the others come forward.
SERGEANT (to the Trumpeter).
Think ye they've done it without good ground?
Is it likely they double our pay to-day, Merely that we may be jolly and gay?
TRUMPETER.
Why, the d.u.c.h.ess arrives to-day, we know, And her daughter too--
SERGEANT.
Tus.h.!.+ that's mere show-- 'Tis the troops collected from other lands Who here at Pilsen have joined our bands-- We must do the best we can t' allure 'em, With plentiful rations, and thus secure 'em.
Where such abundant fare they find, A closer league with us to bind.
TRUMPETER.
Yes!--there's something in the wind.
SERGEANT.
The generals and commanders too--
TRUMPETER.
A rather ominous sight, 'tis true.
SERGEANT.
Who're met together so thickly here--
TRUMPETER.
Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear.
SERGEANT.
The whispering and sending to and fro--
TRUMPETER.
Ay! Ay!
SERGEANT.
The big-wig from Vienna, I trow, Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about In his golden chain of office there-- Something's at the bottom of this, I'll swear.
TRUMPETER.
A bloodhound is he beyond a doubt, By whom the duke's to be hunted out.
SERGEANT.
Mark ye well, man!--they doubt us now, And they fear the duke's mysterious brow; He hath clomb too high for them, and fain Would they beat him down from his perch again.
TRUMPETER.
But we will hold him still on high-- That all would think as you and I!
SERGEANT.
Our regiment, and the other four Which Terzky leads--the bravest corps Throughout the camp, are the General's own, And have been trained to the trade by himself alone The officers hold their command of him, And are all his own, or for life or limb.
SCENE III.
Enter Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him.
The above.
SHARPSHOOTER.
Croat, where stole you that necklace, say?
Get rid of it man--for thee 'tis unmeet: Come, take these pistols in change, I pray.
CROAT.
Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat.
SHARPSHOOTER.
Then I'll give you this fine blue cap as well, A lottery prize which just I've won: Look at the cut of it--quite the swell!
CROAT (twirling the Necklace in the Sun).
But this is of pearls and of garnets bright, See, how it plays in the sunny light!
SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace).
Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen-- I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen.
[Looks at it.
TRUMPETER.
See, now!--how cleanly the Croat is done Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word.
CROAT (having put on the cap).
I think your cap is a smartish one.
SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter).
