_Fritz_. Heaven best knows! But there are human natures so allied Unto the savage love of enterprise, That they will seek for peril as a pleasure. I've heard that nothing can reclaim your Indian, Or tame the tiger, though their infancy Were fed on milk and honey. After all, Your Wallenstein, your Tilly and Gustavus, Your Bannier, and your Torstenson and Weimar[173], 140 Were but the same thing upon a grand scale; And now that they are gone, and peace proclaimed, They who would follow the same pastime must Pursue it on their own account. Here comes The Baron, and the Saxon stranger, who Was his chief aid in yesterday's escape, But did not leave the cottage by the Oder Until this morning. _Enter_ STRALENHEIM _and_ ULRIC. _Stral._ Since you have refused All compensation, gentle stranger, save Inadequate thanks, you almost check even them, 150 Making me feel the worthlessness of words, And blush at my own barren gratitude, They seem so niggardly, compared with what Your courteous courage did in my behalf---- _Ulr._ I pray you press the theme no further. _Stral._ But Can I not serve you? You are young, and of That mould which throws out heroes; fair in favour; Brave, I know, by my living now to say so; And, doubtlessly, with such a form and heart, Would look into the fiery eyes of War, 160 As ardently for glory as you dared An obscure death to save an unknown stranger, In an as perilous, but opposite, element. You are made for the service: I have served; Have rank by birth and soldiership, and friends, Who shall be yours. 'Tis true this pause of peace Favours such views at present scantily; But 'twill not last, men's spirits are too stirring; And, after thirty years of conflict, peace Is but a petty war, as the time shows us 170 In every forest, or a mere armed truce. War will reclaim his own; and, in the meantime, You might obtain a post, which would ensure A higher soon, and, by my influence, fail not To rise. I speak of Brandenburgh, wherein I stand well with the Elector[174]; in Bohemia, Like you, I am a stranger, and we are now Upon its frontier. _Ulr._ You perceive my garb Is Saxon, and, of course, my service due To my own Sovereign. If I must decline 180 Your offer, 'tis with the same feeling which Induced it. _Stral._ Why, this is mere usury! I owe my life to you, and you refuse The acquittance of the interest of the debt, To heap more obligations on me, till I bow beneath them. _Ulr._ You shall say so when I claim the payment.