'Tis all precisely As I related in my letter. Friedland Has sold the army to the enemy, And pledged himself to give up Prague and Egra. On this report the regiments all forsook him, The five excepted that belong to Terzky, And which have follow'd him, as thou hast seen The sentence of attainder is pass'd on him, And every loyal subject is required To give him in to justice, dead or living.
A traitor to the Emperor! Such a noble! Of such high talents! What is human greatness! I often said, this can't end happily. His might, his greatness, and his obscure power Are but a cover'd pit-fall. The human being May not be trusted to self-government. The clear and written law, the deep trod foot-marks Of ancient custom, are all necessary To keep him in the road of faith and duty. The authority intrusted to this man Was unexampled and unnatural, It placed him on a level with his Emperor, Till the proud soul unlearn'd submission. Woe is me! I mourn for him! for where he fell, I deem Might none stand firm. Alas! dear General, We in our lucky mediocrity Have ne'er experienced, cannot calculate, What dangerous wishes such a height may breed In the heart of such a man.
Spare your laments Till he need sympathy; for at this present He is still mighty, and still formidable. The Swedes advance to Egra by forced marches, And quickly will the junction be accomplish'd. This must not be! The Duke must never leave This stronghold on free footing; for I have Pledged life and honor here to hold him prisoner, And your assistance 'tis on which I calculate.
O that I had not lived to see this day! From his hand I received this dignity; He did himself intrust this stronghold to me, Which I am now required to make his dungeon. We subalterns have no will of our own: The free, the mighty man alone may listen To the fair impulse of his human nature. Ah! we are but the poor tools of the law, Obedience the sole virtue we dare aim at!
Nay! let it not afflict you, that your power Is circumscribed. Much liberty, much error! The narrow path of duty is securest.
And all then have deserted him you say? He has built up the luck of many thousands; For kingly was his spirit: his full hand Was ever open! Many a one from dust