Pushkin.  Pray listen to the end;
Whoe’er he be, whether he be Dimitry
Rescued, or else some spirit in his shape,
Some daring rogue, some insolent pretender,
In any case Dimitry has appeared.

Shuisky.  It cannot be.

Pushkin.  Pushkin himself beheld him
When first he reached the court, and through the ranks
Of Lithuanian gentlemen went straight
Into the secret chamber of the king.

Shuisky.  What kind of man?  Whence comes he?

Pushkin.  No one knows. 
’Tis known that he was Vishnevetsky’s servant;
That to a ghostly father on a bed
Of sickness he disclosed himself; possessed
Of this strange secret, his proud master nursed him,
>From his sick bed upraised him, and straightway
Took him to Sigismund.

Shuisky.  And what say men
Of this bold fellow?

Pushkin.  ’Tis said that he is wise,
Affable, cunning, popular with all men. 
He has bewitched the fugitives from Moscow,
The Catholic priests see eye to eye with him. 
The King caresses him, and, it is said,
Has promised help.

Shuisky.  All this is such a medley
That my head whirls.  Brother, beyond all doubt
This man is a pretender, but the danger
Is, I confess, not slight.  This is grave news! 
And if it reach the people, then there’ll be
A mighty tempest.

Pushkin.  Such a storm that hardly
Will Tsar Boris contrive to keep the crown
Upon his clever head; and losing it
Will get but his deserts!  He governs us
As did the tsar Ivan of evil memory. 
What profits it that public executions
Have ceased, that we no longer sing in public
Hymns to Christ Jesus on the field of blood;
That we no more are burnt in public places,
Or that the tsar no longer with his sceptre
Rakes in the ashes?  Is there any safety
In our poor life?  Each day disgrace awaits us;
The dungeon or Siberia, cowl or fetters,
And then in some deaf nook a starving death,
Or else the halter.  Where are the most renowned
Of all our houses, where the Sitsky princes,
Where are the Shestunovs, where the Romanovs,
Hope of our fatherland?  Imprisoned, tortured,
In exile.  Do but wait, and a like fate
Will soon be thine.  Think of it!  Here at home,
Just as in Lithuania, we’re beset
By treacherous slaves—­and tongues are ever ready
For base betrayal, thieves bribed by the State. 
We hang upon the word of the first servant
Whom we may please to punish.  Then he bethought him
To take from us our privilege of hiring
Our serfs at will; we are no longer masters
Of our own lands.  Presume not to dismiss
An idler.  Willy nilly, thou must feed him! 
Presume not to outbid a man in hiring
A labourer, or you will find yourself
In the Court’s clutches.—­Was such an evil heard of
Even under tsar Ivan?  And are the people
The better off?  Ask them.  Let the pretender
But promise them the old free right of transfer,
Then there’ll be sport.