PRIEST. May Saint Ignatius aid thee When other times shall come. Meanwhile, tsarevich, Hide in thy soul the seed of heavenly blessing; Religious duty bids us oft dissemble Before the blabbing world; the people judge Thy words, thy deeds; God only sees thy motives. PRETENDER. Amen. Who's there? (Enter a Servant.) Say that we will receive them. (The doors are opened; a crowd of Russians and Poles enters.) Comrades! Tomorrow we depart from Cracow. Mnishek, with thee for three days in Sambor I'll stay. I know thy hospitable castle Both shines in splendid stateliness, and glories In its young mistress; There I hope to see Charming Marina. And ye, my friends, ye, Russia And Lithuania, ye who have upraised Fraternal banners against a common foe, Against mine enemy, yon crafty villain. Ye sons of Slavs, speedily will I lead Your dread battalions to the longed-for conflict. But soft! Methinks among you I descry New faces. GABRIEL P. They have come to beg for sword And service with your Grace. PRETENDER. Welcome, my lads. You are friends to me. But tell me, Pushkin, who Is this fine fellow? PUSHKIN. Prince Kurbsky. PRETENDER. (To KURBSKY.) A famous name! Art kinsman to the hero of Kazan? KURBSKY. His son. PRETENDER. Liveth he still? KURBSKY. Nay, he is dead. PRETENDER. A noble soul! A man of war and counsel. But from the time when he appeared beneath The ancient town Olgin with the Lithuanians, Hardy avenger of his injuries, Rumour hath held her tongue concerning him. KURBSKY. My father led the remnant of his life On lands bestowed upon him by Batory; There, in Volhynia, solitary and quiet, Sought consolation for himself in studies; But peaceful labour did not comfort him; He ne'er forgot the home of his young days, And to the end pined for it. PRETENDER. Hapless chieftain! How brightly shone the dawn of his resounding And stormy life! Glad am I, noble knight, That now his blood is reconciled in thee To his fatherland. The faults of fathers must not Be called to mind. Peace to their grave. Approach; Give me thy hand! Is it not strange?--the son Of Kurbsky to the throne is leading--whom? Whom but Ivan's own son?--All favours me; People and fate alike.--Say, who art thou? A POLE. Sobansky, a free noble. PRETENDER. Praise and honour Attend thee, child of liberty. Give him A third of his full pay beforehand.--Who Are these? On them I recognise the dress Of my own country. These are ours.