Wallenstein's Camp. Friedrich von Schiller

Yes! – there's something in the wind.

SERGEANT

        The generals and commanders too —

TRUMPETER

        A rather ominous sight, 'tis true.

SERGEANT

        Who're met together so thickly here —

TRUMPETER

        Have plenty of work on their hands, that's clear.

SERGEANT

        The whispering and sending to and fro —

TRUMPETER

        Ay! Ay!

SERGEANT

        The big-wig from Vienna, I trow,

        Who since yesterday's seen to prowl about

        In his golden chain of office there —

        Something's at the bottom of this, I'll swear.

TRUMPETER

        A bloodhound is he beyond a doubt,

        By whom the duke's to be hunted out.

SERGEANT

        Mark ye well, man! – they doubt us now,

        And they fear the duke's mysterious brow;

        He hath clomb too high for them, and fain

        Would they beat him down from his perch again.

TRUMPETER

        But we will hold him still on high —

        That all would think as you and I!

SERGEANT

        Our regiment, and the other four

        Which Terzky leads – the bravest corps

        Throughout the camp, are the General's own,

        And have been trained to the trade by himself alone

        The officers hold their command of him,

        And are all his own, or for life or limb.

      SCENE III

      Enter Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him.

      The above.

SHARPSHOOTER

        Croat, where stole you that necklace, say?

        Get rid of it man – for thee 'tis unmeet:

        Come, take these pistols in change, I pray.

CROAT

        Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat.

SHARPSHOOTER

        Then I'll give you this fine blue cap as well,

        A lottery prize which just I've won:

        Look at the cut of it – quite the swell!

CROAT (twirling the Necklace in the Sun)

        But this is of pearls and of garnets bright,

        See, how it plays in the sunny light!

SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace)

        Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen —

        I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen.

      [Looks at it.

TRUMPETER

        See, now! – how cleanly the Croat is done

        Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word.

CROAT (having put on the cap)

        I think your cap is a smartish one.

SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter)

        'Tis a regular swop, as these gents have heard.

      SCENE IV

      The above. An Artilleryman.

ARTILLERYMAN (to the Sergeant)

        How is this I pray, brother carabineer?

        Shall we longer stay here, our fingers warming,

        While the foe in the field around is swarming?

SERGEANT

        Art thou, indeed, in such hasty fret?

        Why the roads, as I think, are scarce passable yet.

ARTILLERYMAN

        For me they are not – I'm snug enough here —

        But a courier's come, our wits to waken

        With the precious news that Ratisbon's taken.

TRUMPETER

        Ha! then we soon shall have work in hand.

SERGEANT

        Indeed! to protect the Bavarian's land,

        Who hates the duke, as we understand,

        We won't put ourselves in a violent sweat.

ARTILLERYMAN

        Heyday! – you'll find you're a wiseacre yet.

      SCENE V

      The above – Two Yagers. Afterwards Sutler-woman, Soldier-boy, Schoolmaster, Servant-girl.

FIRST YAGER

                   See! see!

        Here meet we a jovial company!

TRUMPETER

        Who can these greencoats be, I wonder,

        That strut so gay and sprucely yonder!

SERGEANT

        They're the Yagers of Holk – and the lace they wear,

        I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair.

SUTLER-WOMAN (bringing wine)

        Welcome, good sirs!

FIRST YAGER

                  Zounds, how now?

        Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow!

SUTLER-WOMAN

        The same in sooth – and you I know,

        Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho:

        Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night,

        With the wags of our regiment, put to flight

        All his father's shiners – then crowned the fun —

FIRST YAGER

        By changing his pen for a rifle-gun.

SUTLER-WOMAN

        We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear.

FIRST YAGER

        And to think we should meet in Bohemia here!

SUTLER-WOMAN

        Oh, here to-day – to-morrow yonder —

        As the rude war-broom, in restless trace,

        Scatters and sweeps us from place to place.

        Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander.

FIRST YAGER

        So one would think, by the look of your face.

SUTLER-WOMAN

        Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar,

        Whither I went with the baggage-car,

        When Mansfeld before us we chased away;

        With