Such an example of a slip of the tongue occurs in _Wallenstein_ (_Piccolomini_, Act 1, Scene 5). In the previous scene, Max Piccolomini has most passionately sided with the Herzog, and dilated ardently on the blessings of peace which disclosed themselves to him during the trip on which he accompanied Wallenstein's daughter to the camp. He leaves his father and the courtier, Questenberg, plunged in deepest consternation. And then the fifth scene continues: Q. Alas! Alas! and stands it so? What friend! and do we let him go away In this delusion--let him go away? Not call him back immediately, not open His eyes upon the spot? OCTAVIO. (_Recovering himself out of a deep study_) He has now opened mine, And I see more than pleases me. Q. What is it? OCTAVIO. A curse on this journey! Q. But why so? What is it? OCTAVIO. Come, come along, friend! I must follow up The ominous track immediately. Mine eyes Are opened now, and I must use them. Come! (_Draws Q. on with him._) Q. What now? Where go you then? OCTAVIO. (_Hastily._) To _her_ herself Q. To-- OCTAVIO. (_Interrupting him and correcting himself._) To the duke. Come, let us go--. Octavio meant to say, "To him, to the lord," but his tongue slips and through his words "_to her_" he betrays to us, at least, the fact that he had quite clearly recognized the influence which makes the young war hero dream of peace. A still more impressive example was found by O. Rank in Shakespeare. It occurs in the _Merchant of Venice_, in the famous scene in which the fortunate suitor makes his choice among the three caskets; and perhaps I can do no better than to read to you here Rank's short account of the incident: "A slip of the tongue which occurs in Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_, Act III, Scene II, is exceedingly delicate in its poetic motivation and technically brilliant in its handling. Like the slip in _Wallenstein_ quoted by Freud (_Psychopathology of Everyday Life_, 2d ed., p. 48), it shows that the poets well know the meaning of these errors and assume their comprehensibility to the audience. Portia, who by her father's wish has been bound to the choice of a husband by lot, has so far escaped all her unfavored suitors through the fortunes of chance. Since she has finally found in Bassanio the suitor to whom she is attached, she fears that he, too, will choose the wrong casket. She would like to tell him that even in that event he may rest assured of her love, but is prevented from so doing by her oath. In this inner conflict the poet makes her say to the welcome suitor: PORTIA: