Franz, The cradle which you asked them for last night-- A LACKEY. 'Tis here. [_He goes out to fetch it._] THE DUKE. [_Looking at_ METTERNICH.] Ah, my Lord Chancellor, I die Too soon for you; and you should weep. METTERNICH. My Lord--! THE DUKE. I was your weapon and my death disarms you! Europe, which never dared to say you nay, When you were he who could unchain the Eaglet, Listening to-morrow, will take heart, and say "I do not hear it stirring in its cage!" METTERNICH. My Lord! My Lord! [_The great enamelled cradle is brought in._] THE DUKE. The cradle Paris gave me! My splendid cradle, Prudhon's masterpiece! Amidst its gold and mother-o'-pearl I slept, A babe, whose christening was a coronation. Place it beside this little bed, whereon My Father slept when victory fanned his slumbers. Closer! until its laces graze the sheets. Alas! how near my cradle to my death-bed! [ _He points to the gap between the cradle and the bed._] And all my life lies in that narrow space! THERESA. Oh!-- THE DUKE. In that gap, too narrow and too dark, Fate ne'er let fall a single pin of glory. Lay me upon the bed. DIETRICHSTEIN. How pale he grows! THE DUKE. Ah, I was greater in my cradle, than I am upon this bed; and women rocked me-- Yes, I had three to rock me, and they sang Their strange old songs: dear songs of Mistress Marchand! Oh, who will lull me now with cradle-songs? MARIA LOUISA. Is not your mother here to sing to you? THE DUKE. Do you know any songs of France? MARIA LOUISA. Why--no. THE DUKE. [_To_ THERESA.] And you? THERESA. Perhaps. THE DUKE. Oh, sing below your breath. "The rain falls, Shepherdess" and "May is come," And sing "Upon the bridge that spans the Rhone," That I may sleep, rocked on the people's fancy. There was a song I used to love; sing that:-- There was a little man, And he was clad in gray-- THERESA. Break, tender heart, as broke the heart of iron-- THE COUNTESS. A crystal, shattered by a brazen echo-- THE ARCHDUCHESS. A harp-string, shattered by a battle-song-- THERESA. A lily sinking silently on laurels. THE DOCTOR. My Lord is very ill. Stand more apart. THERESA. Farewell, François--! THE ARCHDUCHESS. Farewell, Franz! THE COUNTESS. Farewell, Bonaparte! MARIA LOUISA. Alas, his head grows heavy on my shoulder! THE ARCHDUCHESS. Duke of Reichstadt! THE COUNTESS. King of Rome! THERESA. Poor child! THE DUKE. [_Deliriously._] The horses! horses! THE PRELATE [WAGNER]. Let us fall to prayer! THE DUKE. Horses! that I may ride to meet my father! MARIA LOUISA. Will you not let me wipe away your tears?