what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such ideas. _Burial-wife_ [_entering_]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed? _Hans_. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorbass. A knave who stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much relish being treated like a child. _Burial-wife_. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back to the old wife. _Hans_. Not yet. _Burial-wife_. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me, and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance. Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I bear all my dear children to their rest. _Hans_. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my too-long-idle sword hurl down to hell the coward pack that presses round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains? Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me! _Burial-wife_. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so? _Hans_. Let me curse. _Burial-wife_. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and listen what I tell thee. _Hans_. On the grave-straw? [_Lies down with a grimace._] _Burial-wife_. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they? _Hans_. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too weak,--there lay the blame. _Burial-wife_. Yet he was blustering and drew his sword and demanded with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou knowest him, my dear son?