CAS. Yes, Beefington—but wherefore to Hamburgh? BEEF. Oh, Casimere[279]—to fly—to fly—to return—England—our country—Magna Charta—it is liberated—a new æra—House of Commons—Crown and Anchor—Opposition— CAS. What a contrast! you are flying to liberty and your home—I, driven from my home by tyranny, and exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country. BEEF. How domestic slavery? CAS. Too true—two wives—[_slowly, and with a dejected air—then after a pause_]—you knew my Cecilia? PUDD. Yes, five years ago. CAS. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia—my Matilda was under her protection. Alighting at a peasant’s cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread-and-butter for the children, in a light-blue riding-habit. The simplicity of her appearance—the fineness of the weather—all conspired to interest me—my heart moved to hers—as if by magnetic sympathy. We wept, embraced, and went home together: she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience—her Rogero is languishing in captivity—if I could restore her to _him_! BEEF. Let us rescue him. CAS. Will without power[280] is like children playing at soldiers. BEEF. Courage without power[281] is like a consumptive running footman. CAS. Courage without power is a contradiction.[282] Ten brave men might set all Quedlinburgh at defiance. BEEF. Ten brave men—but where are they to be found? CAS. I will tell you—marked you the waiter? BEEF. The waiter? [_doubtingly._ CAS. [_in a confidential tone_]. No waiter, but a _Knight Templar_. Returning from the Crusade, he found his Order dissolved, and his person proscribed. He dissembled his rank, and embraced the profession of a waiter. I have made sure of him already. There are, besides, an Austrian, and a Prussian grenadier. I have made them abjure their national enmity, and they have sworn to fight henceforth in the cause of freedom. These with young Pottingen, the waiter, and ourselves, make seven—the Troubadour, with his two attendant minstrels, will complete the ten. BEEF. Now then for the execution. [_With enthusiasm._ PUDD. Yes, my boys—for the execution. [_Clapping them on the back._ WAITER. But hist! we are observed. TROU. Let us by a song conceal our purposes. RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.[283] CAS. Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow From night’s cold lungs our purpose know! PUDD. Let Silence, mother of the dumb, BEEF. Press on each lip her palsied thumb! WAIT. Let Privacy, allied to sin, That loves to haunt the tranquil inn— GREN. } And Conscience start, when she shall view THOU. } The mighty deed we mean to do! GENERAL CHORUS—_Con spirito._