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 wish'd 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 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 _(his voice trembling)_. Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me? OCTAVIO. More than forgive you. He would fain compensate For that affront, and most unmerited grievance Sustain'd by a deserving gallant veteran. From his free impulse he confirms the present, Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose. The regiment, which you now command, is yours. [BUTLER attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labors 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 Wear it with honor for the right cause ever. 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! OCTAVIO. Come after me to Frauenburg, where now All who are loyal are assembling under Counts Altringer and Gallas. Many others I've brought to a remembrance of their duty: This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen. BUTLER (_strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to_ OCTAVIO _with resolved countenance_). Count Piccolomini! dare that man speak Of honor 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 honor! OCTAVIO. What's your design? BUTLER. Leave me and my regiment. 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! 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_).