_Octavio._ The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light, 50 The more impatient cause have I, my son, To force it on thee. To the innocence And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee With calm assurance--but I see the net Preparing--and it is thy heart itself 55 Alarms me for thine innocence--that secret, Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. Know, then, they are duping thee!--a most foul game With thee and with us all--nay, hear me calmly-- The Duke even now is playing. He assumes 60 The mask, as if he would forsake the army; And in this moment makes he preparations That army from the Emperor to steal, And carry it over to the enemy! _Max._ That low Priest's legend I know well, but did not 65 Expect to hear it from thy mouth. _Octavio._ That mouth, From which thou hearest it at this present moment, Doth warrant thee that it is no Priest's legend. _Max._ How mere a maniac they supposed the Duke! What, he can meditate?--the Duke?--can dream 70 That he can lure away full thirty thousand Tried troops and true, all honourable soldiers, More than a thousand noblemen among them, From oaths, from duty, from their honour lure them, And make them all unanimous to do 75 A deed that brands them scoundrels? _Octavio._ Such a deed, With such a front of infamy, the Duke No wise desires--what he requires of us Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing He wishes, but to give the Empire peace. 80 And so, because the Emperor hates this peace, Therefore the Duke--the Duke will force him to it. All parts of the Empire will he pacify, And for his trouble will retain in payment (What he has already in his gripe)--Bohemia! 85 _Max._ Has he, Octavio, merited of us, That we--that we should think so vilely of him?