The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: PoetryByron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
General
The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 5: Poetry
Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron
English drama; English poetry
_Gab._ There were, in company;
But, in the service rendered to your Lordship,
I needs must say but _one_, and he is absent.
The chief part of whatever aid was rendered
Was _his_: it was his fortune to be first. 480
My will was not inferior, but his strength
And youth outstripped me; therefore do not waste
Your thanks on me. I was but a glad second
Unto a nobler principal.
_Stral._ Where is he?
_An Atten._ My Lord, he tarried in the cottage where
Your Excellency rested for an hour,
And said he would be here to-morrow.
_Stral._ Till
That hour arrives, I can but offer thanks,
And then----
_Gab._ I seek no more, and scarce deserve
So much. My comrade may speak for himself. 490
_Stral._ (_fixing his eyes upon_ WERNER: _then aside_).
It cannot be! and yet he must be looked to.
'Tis twenty years since I beheld him with
These eyes; and, though my agents still have kept
_Theirs_ on him, policy has held aloof
My own from his, not to alarm him into
Suspicion of my plan. Why did I leave
At Hamburgh those who would have made assurance
If this be he or no? I thought, ere now,
To have been lord of Siegendorf, and parted
In haste, though even the elements appear 500
To fight against me, and this sudden flood
May keep me prisoner here till----
[_He pauses and looks at_ WERNER: _then resumes_.
This man must
Be watched. If it is he, he is so changed,
His father, rising from his grave again,
Would pass by him unknown. I must be wary:
An error would spoil all.
_Iden._ Your Lordship seems
Pensive. Will it not please you to pass on?
_Stral._ 'Tis past fatigue, which gives my weighed-down spirit
An outward show of thought. I will to rest.
_Iden._ The Prince's chamber is prepared, with all 510
The very furniture the Prince used when
Last here, in its full splendour.
(_Aside_). Somewhat tattered,
And devilish damp, but fine enough by torch-light;
And that's enough for your right noble blood
Of twenty quarterings upon a hatchment;
So let their bearer sleep 'neath something like one
Now, as he one day will for ever lie.
_Stral._ (_rising and turning to_ GABOR).
Good night, good people! Sir, I trust to-morrow
Will find me apter to requite your service.
In the meantime I crave your company 520
A moment in my chamber.
_Gab._ I attend you.
_Stral_, (_after a few steps, pauses, and calls_ WERNER).
Friend!
_Wer._ Sir!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account