_Prince_. Still she is mine, as I know who I am! And should she never long to come to me, yet my soul's longings shall be stronger than she herself. Hans Lorbass, my brave fellow-soldier, take thy sword and arm thyself straightway. _Hans_. I am armed. [_To the_ Burial-wife.] The hangman-- _Prince_. Spare thy curses. She serves my happiness as best she can. Farewell! We will seek the world over, and when the first promise is fulfilled--Farewell! _Hans_ [_grimly_]. Farewell! [_They go out to the left._] _The Burial-wife_ [_alone_]. Go, my children, face the combat, fight boldly, wield the feathers unrestrained; when you weary, bring me back your outworn bodies, cast them here upon my shore. But till the time shall come when I will plant them like twigs in my garden, go and fight and love and dance ... for I can wait.... I can wait! ACT. II. _Arcade on the first story of a Romanesque palace, separated in the background by a row of columns from the court below, to which steps lead down from the middle to right and left. On the platform between them, facing the court, is a throne-chair, which later is covered with a curtain. Walks lead right and left rectangularly toward the background. On the right are several steps to the back, the principal path to the castle chapel. On the left side-wall in front is a door with a stone bench near it, and to the left of that another door. On the right in front is an iron-bound outside door. Stone benches stand between the columns. The back of the buildings surrounding the court form the background of the scene. Early morning._ Scene I. Skoell _with his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench_. Coelestin _with a page holding a torch._ _Coelestin_. Put the link out, my son. It hangs on thy tired arm too heavily.... Yes, yes, this morning many a one thinks of his bed.... What, an alarm so early? Man and steed armed? _Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Brother--thy health! _Page_. Look! The fellow is still drunk. _Coelestin_. How else? Would, though, the filthy wretch and his Duke too with his dissolute bravery, were smoked out of the country!... Still, I am not anxious. The Pommeranian prince--there is a man of glorious renown!--may win. _Page_. I fear, my lord, thou art wrong. The horses of the Pommeranian snort below. They look as though they were about to start. _Coelestin_. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian? _Page_. Yes.