Wallenstein's Camp

FIRST YAGER

The infant? that's queer enough in its way.

SECOND YAGER

The priest – then, egad! there's the devil to pay.

FIRST CUIRASSIER

Shall we then leave the Friedlander's train,
Who so nobly his soldiers doth entertain —
And drag to the field with this fellow from Spain!
A niggard whom we in our souls disdain!
That'll never go down – I'm off, I swear.

TRUMPETER

Why, what the devil should we do there?
We sold our blood to the emperor – ne'er
For this Spanish red hat a drop we'll spare!

SECOND YAGER

On the Friedlander's word and credit alone
We ranged ourselves in the trooper line,
And, but for our love to Wallenstein,
Ferdinand ne'er had our service known.

FIRST DRAGOON

Was it not Friedland that formed our force?
His fortune shall still be the star of our course.

SERGEANT

Silence, good comrades, to me give ear —
Talking does little to help us here.
Much farther in this I can see than you all,
And a trap has been laid in which we're to fall;

FIRST YAGER

List to the order-book! hush – be still!

SERGEANT

But first, Cousin Gustel, I pray thee fill
A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak
When I've tossed it off, my mind I'll speak.

SUTLER-WOMAN

Take it, good sergeant. I quake for fear —
Think you that mischief is hidden here?

SERGEANT

Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear
That each should consider what's most near.
But as the general says, say I,
One should always the whole of a case descry.
We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops;
The burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops
Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups.
His ox, or his horse, the peasant must chain
To our baggage-car, and may grumble in vain.
Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men,
Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken,
You're sure he'll be prince of the place, and may
Cut what capers he will, with unquestioned sway.
Why, zounds! lads, they heartily hate us all —
And would rather the devil should give them a call,
Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall
On us fairly at once and get rid of our lumber?
They're more than our match in point of number,
And carry the cudgel as we do the sword.
Why can we laugh them to scorn? By my word
Because we make up here a terrible horde.

FIRST YAGER

Ay, ay, in the mass lies the spell of our might,
And the Friedlander judged the matter aright,
When, some eight or nine years ago, he brought
The emperor's army together. They thought
Twelve thousand enough for the general. In vain,
Said he, such a force I can never maintain.
Sixty thousand I'll bring ye into the plain,
And they, I'll be sworn, won't of hunger die,
And thus were we Wallenstein's men, say I.

SERGEANT

For example, cut one of my fingers off,
This little one here from my right hand doff.
Is the taking my finger then all you've done?
No, no, to the devil my hand is gone!
'Tis a stump – no more – and use has none.