_Butler._ Be't who it will--a most low-hearted scoundrel, Some vile court-minion must it be, some Spaniard, Some young squire of some ancient family, 85 In whose light I may stand, some envious knave, Stung to his soul by my fair self-earned honours! _Octavio._ But tell me! Did the Duke approve that measure? _Butler._ Himself impelled me to it, used his interest In my behalf with all the warmth of friendship. 90 _Octavio._ Ay? Are you sure of that? _Butler._ I read the letter. _Octavio._ And so did I--but the contents were different. By chance I'm in possession of that letter-- Can leave it to your own eyes to convince you. [_He gives him the letter._ _Butler._ Ha! what is this? _Octavio._ I fear me, Colonel Butler, 95 An infamous game have they been playing with you. The Duke, you say, impelled you to this measure? Now, in this letter talks he in contempt Concerning you, counsels the Minister To give sound chastisement to your conceit, 100 For so he calls it. [_BUTLER reads through the letter, his knees tremble, he seizes a chair, and sinks down in it._ You have no enemy, no persecutor; There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe The insult you received to the Duke only. His aim is clear and palpable. He wished 105 To tear you from your Emperor--he hoped To gain from your revenge what he well knew (What your long-tried fidelity convinced him) He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason. A blind tool would he make you, in contempt 110 Use you, as means of most abandoned ends. He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded In luring you away from that good path On which you had been journeying forty years! _Butler._ Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me? 115 _Octavio._ More than forgive you. He would fain compensate For that affront, and most unmerited grievance Sustained by a deserving, gallant veteran. From his free impulse he confirms the present, Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. 120 The regiment, which you now command, is yours. [_BUTLER attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labours inwardly with violent emotions; tries to speak, and cannot. At length he takes his sword from the belt, and offers it to PICCOLOMINI._ _Octavio._ What wish you? Recollect yourself, friend. _Butler._ Take it. _Octavio._ But to what purpose? Calm yourself. _Butler._ O take it! I am no longer worthy of this sword. _Octavio._ Receive it then anew from my hands--and 125 Wear it with honour for the right cause ever.