The Piccolomini. Friedrich Schiller

Nor can he take us by surprise; you know

       I hold him all encompassed by my listeners.

       What'er he does, is mine, even while 'tis doing—

       No step so small, but instantly I hear it;

       Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

       QUESTENBERG.

       'Tis quite

       Incomprehensible, that he detects not

       The foe so near!

       OCTAVIO.

       Beware, you do not think,

       That I, by lying arts, and complaisant

       Hypocrisy, have sulked into his graces,

       Or with the substance of smooth professions

       Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No—

       Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty

       Which we all owe our country and our sovereign,

       To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet

       Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits!

       QUESTENBERG.

       It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

       OCTAVIO.

       I know not what it is that so attracts

       And links him both to me and to my son.

       Comrades and friends we always were—long habit,

       Adventurous deeds performed in company,

       And all those many and various incidents

       Which stores a soldier's memory with affections,

       Had bound us long and early to each other—

       Yet I can name the day, when all at once

       His heart rose on me, and his confidence

       Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning

       Before the memorable fight at Luetzen.

       Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,

       To press him to accept another charger.

       At a distance from the tents, beneath a tree,

       I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him

       And had related all my bodings to him,

       Long time he stared upon me, like a man

       Astounded: thereon fell upon my neck,

       And manifested to me an emotion

       That far outstripped the worth of that small service.

       Since then his confidence has followed me

       With the same pace that mine has fled from him.

       QUESTENBERG.

       You lead your son into the secret?

       OCTAVIO.

       No!

       QUESTENBERG.

       What! and not warn him either, what bad hands

       His lot has placed him in?

       OCTAVIO.

       I must perforce

       Leave him in wardship to his innocence.

       His young and open soul—dissimulation

       Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance

       Alone can keep alive the cheerful air,

       The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit,

       That makes the duke secure.

       QUESTENBERG (anxiously).

       My honored friend! most highly do I deem

       Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if—

       Reflect a little——

       OCTAVIO.

       I must venture it.

       Hush! There he comes!