_Butler._ 'Tis all precisely 20 As I related in my letter. Friedland Has sold the army to the enemy, And pledged himself to give up Prague and Egra. On this report the regiments all forsook him, The five excepted that belong to Tertsky, 25 And which have followed him, as thou hast seen. The sentence of attainder is passed on him, And every loyal subject is required To give him in to justice, dead or living. _Gordon._ A traitor to the Emperor--Such a noble! 30 Of such high talents! What is human greatness! I often said, this can't end happily. His might, his greatness, and this obscure power Are but a covered pit-fall. The human being May not be trusted to self-government. 35 The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks Of ancient custom, are all necessary To keep him in the road of faith and duty. The authority entrusted to this man Was unexampled and unnatural 40 It placed him on a level with his Emperor, Till the proud soul unlearned submission. Wo is me; I mourn for him! for where he fell, I deem Might none stand firm. Alas! dear General, We in our lucky mediocrity 45 Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate, What dangerous wishes such a height may breed In the heart of such a man. _Butler._ Spare your laments Till he need sympathy; for at this present He is still mighty, and still formidable. 50 The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches, And quickly will the junction be accomplished. This must not be! The Duke must never leave This strong hold on free footing; for I have Pledged life and honour here to hold him prisoner, 55 And your assistance 'tis on which I calculate. _Gordon._ O that I had not lived to see this day! From his hand I received this dignity, He did himself entrust this strong hold to me, Which I am now required to make his dungeon. 60 We subalterns have no will of our own: The free, the mighty man alone may listen To the fair impulse of his human nature. Ah! we are but the poor tools of the law, Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at! 65 _Butler._ Nay, let it not afflict you, that your power Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error! The narrow path of duty is securest. _Gordon._ And all then have deserted him, you say? He has built up the luck of many thousands; 70 For kingly was his spirit: his full hand Was ever open! Many a one from dust Hath he selected, from the very dust Hath raised him into dignity and honour. And yet no friend, not one friend hath he purchased, 75 Whose heart beats true to him in the evil hour. _Butler._ Here's one, I see.