Well, for the present
Ye must remain honest and faithful soldiers.

DEVEREUX.

We wish no other.

BUTLER.

Ay, and make your fortunes.

MACRON.

That is still better. 
                    Listen!

BOTH.

We attend.

BUTLER.

It is the Emperor’s will and ordinance
To seize the person of the Prince-Duke Friedland,
Alive or dead.

DEVEREUX.

It runs so in the letter.

MACRON.

Alive or dead-these were the very words.

BUTLER.

And he shall be rewarded from the State
In land and gold, who proffers aid thereto.

DEVEREUX.

Ay! that sounds well.  The words sound always well
That travel hither from the Court.  Yes! yes! 
We know already what Court-words import. 
A golden chain perhaps in sign of favor,
Or an old charger, or a parchment patent,
And such like—­The Prince-Duke pays better.

MACDONALD.

Yes
The Duke’s a splendid paymaster.

BUTLER.

All over
With that, my friends!  His lucky stars are set.

MACDON.

And is that certain?

BUTLER.

You have my word for it.

DEVEREUX.

His lucky fortunes all past by?

BUTLER.

Forever
He is as poor as we.

MACDONALD.

As poor as we?

DEVEREUX.

Macdonald, we’ll desert him.

BUTLER.

We’ll desert him? 
Full twenty thousand have done that already;
We must do more, my countrymen!  In short—­
We—­we must kill him.

BOTH (starting back).

Kill him!

BUTLER.

Yes, must kill him;
And for that purpose have I chosen you.

BOTH.

Us!

BUTLER.

You, Captain Devereux, and thee, Macdonald.

DEVEREUX (after a pause).

Choose you some other.

BUTLER.

What! art dastardly? 
Thou, with full thirty lives to answer for—­
Thou conscientious of a sudden?

DEVEREUX.

Nay
To assassinate our Lord and General—­

MACDON.

To whom we’ve sworn a soldier’s oath

BUTLER.

The oath
Is null, for Friedland is a traitor.

DEVEREUX.

No, no! it is too bad!

MACDONALD.

Yes, by my soul! 
It is too bad.  One has a conscience too—­

DEVEREUX.

If it were not our Chieftain, who so long
Has issued the commands, and claim’d our duty—­

BUTLER.

Is that the objection?

DEVEREUX.

Were it my own father,
And the Emperor’s service should demand it of me,
It might be done perhaps—­But we are soldiers,
And to assassinate our Chief Commander—­
That is a sin, a foul abomination,
From which no monk or confessor absolves us.