You will not be forgotten, Governor! He'll take you from this nest, and bid you shine In higher station: your fidelity Well merits it. GORDON. I am content already And wish to climb no higher; where great height is, The fall must needs be great. "Great height, great depth." ILLO. Here you have no more business, for tomorrow The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. Come, Terzky, it is supper-time. What think you? Nay, shall we have the town illuminated In honor of the Swede? And who refuses To do it is a Spaniard and a traitor. TERZKY. Nay! nay! not that, it will not please the Duke-- ILLO. What! we are masters here; no soul shall dare Avow himself Imperial where we've the rule. Gordon! good night, and for the last time, take A fair leave of the place. Send out patroles To make secure, the watch-word may be alter'd At the stroke of ten; deliver in the keys To the Duke himself, and then you've quit for ever Your wardship of the gates, for on tomorrow The Swedes will take possession of the citadel. TERZKY (_as he is going, to_ BUTLER). You come, though, to the castle? BUTLER. At the right time. [_Exeunt_ TERZKY _and_ ILLO.] SCENE VIII GORDON _and_ BUTLER GORDON (_looking after them_). Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding! They rush into the outspread net of murder In the blind drunkenness of victory; I have no pity for their fate. This Illo, This overflowing and foolhardy villain, That would fain bathe himself in his Emperor's blood.-- BUTLER. Do as he order'd you. Send round patroles, Take measures for the citadel's security; When they are within I close the castle-gate That nothing may transpire. GORDON (_with earnest anxiety_). Oh! haste not so! Nay, stop; first tell me-- BUTLER. You have heard already, Tomorrow to the Swedes belongs. This night Alone is ours. They make good expedition, But we will make still greater. Fare you well. GORDON. Ah! your looks tell me nothing good. Nay, Butler, I pray you, promise me! BUTLER. The sun has set; A fateful evening doth descend upon us, And brings on their long night! Their evil stars Deliver them unarm'd into our hands, And from their drunken dream of golden fortunes The dagger at their heart shall rouse them. Well, The Duke was ever a great calculator; His fellow-men were figures on his chess-board, To move and station, as his game required. Other men's honor, dignity, good name, Did he shift like pawns, and make no conscience of; Still calculating, calculating still; And yet at last his calculation proves Erroneous; the whole game is lost; and lo! His own life will be found among the forfeits. GORDON. O think not of his errors now! remember His greatness, his munificence; think on all The lovely features of his character, On all the noble exploits of his life, And let them, like an angel's arm, unseen, Arrest the lifted sword. BUTLER.