_Butler._----Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign! _Octavio._ You'll make amends. Quick! break off from the Duke! _Butler._ Break off from him! _Octavio._ What now? Bethink thyself. _Butler (no longer governing his emotion)._ Only break off from him?--He dies!--he dies! 130 _Octavio._ Come after me to Frauenberg, where now All who are loyal are assembling under Counts Altringer and Galas. Many others I've brought to a remembrance of their duty. This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. 135 _Butler._ Count Piccolomini! Dare that man speak Of honour to you, who once broke his troth? _Octavio._ He, who repents so deeply of it, dares. _Butler._ Then leave me here, upon my word of honour! _Octavio._ What's your design? _Butler._ Leave me and my regiment. 140 _Octavio._ I have full confidence in you. But tell me What are you brooding? _Butler._ That the deed will tell you. Ask me no more at present. Trust to me. Ye may trust safely. By the living God Ye give him over, not to his good angel! 145 Farewell. [_Exit BUTLER._ _Servant (enters with a billet)._ A stranger left it, and is gone. The Prince-Duke's horses wait for you below. [_Exit_ Servant. _Octavio (reads)._ 'Be sure, make haste! Your faithful Isolan.' --O that I had but left this town behind me. To split upon a rock so near the haven!-- 150 Away! This is no longer a safe place for me! Where can my son be tarrying? FOOTNOTES: [718:1] It probably did not suit Schiller's purposes to remark, what he doubtless knew, that Butler was of a noble Irish family, indeed one of the noblest. _MS. R_. LINENOTES: [18] _me_ 1800, 1828, 1829. [55] _Octavio (coldly)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [After 92] [_BUTLER is suddenly struck._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 115] _Butler (his voice trembling)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. [Before 136] _Butler (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to Octavio with resolved countenance)._ 1800, 1828, 1829. SCENE VI _OCTAVIO and MAX PICCOLOMINI._ _Octavio (advances to Max)._ I am going off, my son. [_Receiving no answer he takes his hand._ My son, farewell. _Max._ Farewell. _Octavio._ Thou wilt soon follow me? _Max._ I follow thee? Thy way is crooked--it is not my way. [_OCTAVIO drops his hand, and starts back._