Ses Here in Bohemia, this has none--no country; This is an outcast of all foreign lands, Unclaimed by town or tribe, to whom belongs Nothing except the universal sun. And this Bohemian land for which we fight Loves not the master whom the chance of war, Not its own choice or will, hath given to it. Men murmur at the oppression of their conscience, And power hath only awed but not appeased them. A glowing and avenging memory lives Of cruel deeds committed on these plains; How can the son forget that here his father Was hunted by the bloodhound to the mass? A people thus oppressed must still be feared, Whether they suffer or avenge their wrongs. WRANGEL. But then the nobles and the officers? Such a desertion, such a felony, It is without example, my lord duke, In the world's history. WALLENSTEIN. They are all mine-- Mine unconditionally--mine on all terms. Not me, your own eyes you must trust. [He gives him the paper containing the written oath. WRANGEL reads it through, and, having read it, lays it on the table,--remaining silent. So then; Now comprehend you? WRANGEL. Comprehend who can! My lord duke, I will let the mask drop--yes! I've full powers for a final settlement. The Rhinegrave stands but four days' march from here With fifteen thousand men, and only waits For orders to proceed and join your army. These orders I give out immediately We're compromised. WALLENSTEIN. What asks the chancellor? WRANGEL (considerately). Twelve regiments, every man a Swede--my head The warrant
