Gordon! ’tis not my hatred (I pretend not
To love the Duke, and have no cause to love him),
Yet ’tis not now my hatred that impels me
To be his murderer.  ’Tis his evil fate. 
Hostile concurrences of many events
Control and subjugate me to the office. 
In vain the human being meditates
Free action.  He is but the wire-work’d[31] puppet
Of the blind Power, which out of its own choice
Creates for him a dread necessity. 
What too would it avail him, if there were
A something pleading for him in my heart—­
Still I must kill him.

GORDON.

If your heart speak to you,
Follow its impulse.  ’Tis the voice of God. 
Think you your fortunes will grow prosperous
Bedew’d with blood—­his blood?  Believe it not!

BUTLER.

You know not.  Ask not!  Wherefore should it happen
That the Swedes gain’d the victory, and hasten
With such forced marches hitherward?  Fain would I
Have given him to the Emperor’s mercy.  Gordon! 
I do not wish his blood—­But I must ransom
The honor of my word—­it lies in pledge—­
And he must die, or—­

[Passionately grasping GORDON’s hand.]

Listen then, and know,
I am dishonor’d if the Duke escape us.

GORDON.

O! to save such a man—­

BUTLER.

What!

GORDON.

It is worth
A sacrifice.  Come, friend!  Be noble-minded! 
Our own heart, and not other men’s opinions,
Forms our true honor.

BUTLER (with a cold and haughty air).

He is a great Lord,
This Duke—­and I am but of mean importance. 
This is what you would say!  Wherein concerns it
The world at large, you mean to hint to me,
Whether the man of low extraction keeps
Or blemishes his honor—­
So that the man of princely rank be saved? 
We all do stamp our value on ourselves: 
The price we challenge for ourselves is given us. 
There does not live on earth the man so station’d
That I despise myself, compared with him. 
Man is made great or little by his own will;
Because I am true to mine, therefore he dies.

GORDON.

I am endeavoring to move a rock. 
Thou hadst a mother, yet no human feelings. 
I cannot hinder you, but may some God
Rescue him from you!

[Exit GORDON.]

BUTLER[32] (alone).

I treasured my good name all my life long;
The Duke has cheated me of life’s best jewel,
So that I blush before this poor weak Gordon! 
He prizes above all his fealty;
His conscious soul accuses him of nothing;
In opposition to his own soft heart
He subjugates himself to an iron duty. 
Me in a weaker moment passion warp’d;
I stand beside him, and must feel myself
The worse man of the two.  What, though the world
Is ignorant of my purposed treason, yet
One man does know it, and can prove it too—­
High-minded Piccolomini! 
There lives the man who can dishonor me! 
This ignominy blood alone can cleanse! 
Duke Friedland, thou or I—­Into my own hands
Fortune delivers me—­The dearest thing a man has is himself.