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Only of power and the opportunity. That opportunity, lo! it comes yonder Approaching with swift steeds; then with a swing Throw thyself up into the chariot-seat, Seize with firm hand the reins ere thy opponent Anticipate thee, and himself make conquest Of the now empty seat. The moment comes; It is already here, when thou must write The absolute total of thy life's vast sum. The constellations stand victorious o'er thee, The planets shoot good fortune in fair junctions, And tell thee, "Now's the time!" The starry courses Hast thou thy life-long measured to no purpose? The quadrant and the circle, were they playthings? [Pointing to the different objects in the room. The zodiacs, the rolling orbs of heaven, Hast pictured on these walls and all around thee. In dumb, foreboding symbols hast thou placed These seven presiding lords of destiny-- For toys? Is all this preparation nothing? Is there no marrow in this hollow art, That even to thyself it doth avail Nothing, and has no influence over thee In the great moment of decision? WALLENSTEIN (during this last speech walks up and down with inward struggles, laboring with passion; stops suddenly, stands still, then interrupting the COUNTESS). Send Wrangel to me--I will instantly Despatch three couriers---- ILLO (hurrying out). God in heaven be praised! WALLENSTEIN. It is his evil genius and mine. Our evil genius! It chastises him Through me, the instrument of his ambition; And I expect no less, than that revenge E'en now is whetting for my breast the poinard. Who sows the serpent's teeth let him not hope To reap a joyous harvest. Every crime Has, in the moment of its perpetration, Its own avenging angel--dark misgiving, An ominous sinking at the inmost heart. He can no longer trust me. Then no longer Can I retreat--so come that which must come. Still destiny preserves its due relations, The heart within us is its absolute Vicegerent. [To TERZKY. Go, conduct you Gustave Wrangel To my state cabinet. Myself will speak to The couriers. And despatch immediately A servant for Octavio Piccolomini. [To the COUNTESS, who cannot conceal her triumph. No exultation! woman, triumph not! For jealous are the powers of destiny, Joy premature, and shouts ere victory, Encroach upon their rights and privileges. We sow the seed, and they the growth determine. [While he is making his exit the curtain drops. A
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