MARFA. With such a tale as this can he find friends To peril life and fortune in his cause? ARCHBISHOP. Oh, madam, false, false-hearted is the Pole, And enviously he eyes our country's wealth. He welcomes every pretext that may serve To light the flames of war within our bounds! MARFA. And were there credulous spirits, even in Moscow, Could by this juggle be so lightly stirred? ARCHBISHOP. Oh, fickle, princess, is the people's heart! They dote on alteration, and expect To reap advantage from a change of rulers. The bold assurance of the falsehood charms; The marvellous finds favor and belief. Therefore the Czar is anxious thou shouldst quell This mad delusion, as thou only canst. A word from thee annihilates the traitor That falsely claims the title of thy son. It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride, And, with a noble anger paints thy cheek. MARFA. And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now, Who dares usurp the title of my son? ARCHBISHOP. E'en now he's moving on to Tscherinsko; His camp at Kioff has broke up, 'tis rumored; And with a force of mounted Polish troops And Don Cossacks, he comes to push his claims. MARFA. Oh, God Almighty, thanks, thanks, thanks, that thou Hast sent me rescue and revenge at last! ARCHBISHOP. How, Marfa, how am I to construe this? MARFA. Ob, heavenly powers, conduct him safely here! Hover, oh all ye angels, round his banners! ARCHBISHOP. Can it be so? The traitor, canst thou trust---- MARFA. He is my son. Yes! by these signs alone I recognize him. By thy Czar's alarm I recognize him. Yes! He lives! He comes! Down, tyrant, from thy throne, and shake with fear! There still doth live a shoot from Rurik's stem; The genuine Czar--the rightful heir draws nigh, He comes to claim a reckoning for his own. ARCHBISHOP. Dost thou bethink thee what thou say'st? 'Tis madness! MARFA. At length--at length has dawned the day of vengeance, Of restoration. Innocence is dragged To light by heaven from the grave's midnight gloom. The haughty Godunow, my deadly foe, Must crouch and sue for mercy at my feet; Oh, now my burning wishes are fulfilled! ARCHBISHOP. Can hate and rancorous malice blind you so?