rance at least of
talking. I would not wish to stand by myself, and yet I conjecture that
there will be goings on here worthy of our attentive observation. (He
continues to fix his eye on the whole following scene.)

ISOLANI (on the point of going). Lights! lights!

TERZKY (advances with the paper to ISOLANI). Noble brother; two minutes
longer! Here is something to subscribe.

ISOLANI. Subscribe as much as you like--but you must excuse me from
reading it.

TERZKY. There is no need. It is the oath which you have already read.
Only a few marks of your pen!

[ISOLANI hands over the paper to OCTAVIO respectfully.

TERZKY. Nay, nay, first come, first served. There is no precedence
here.

[OCTAVIO runs over the paper with apparent indifference.
TERZKY watches him at some distance.

GOETZ (to TERZKY). Noble count! with your permission--good-night.

TERKZY. Where's the hurry? Come, one other composing draught. (To the
SERVANTS). Ho!

GOETZ. Excuse me--aint able.

TERZKY. A thimble-full.

GOETZ. Excuse me.

TIEFENBACH (sits down). Pardon me, nobles! This standing does not agree
with me.

TERZKY. Consult your own convenience, general.

TIEFENBACH. Clear at head, sound in stomach--only my legs won't carry me
any longer.

ISOLANI (pointing at his corpulence). Poor legs! how should they! Such
an unmerciful load!

[OCTAVIO subscribes his name, and reaches over the paper to TERZKY,
who gives it to ISOLANI; and he goes to the table to sign his name.

TIEFENBACH. 'Twas that war in Pomerania that first brought it on. Out
in all weathers--ice and snow--no help for it. I shall never get the
better of it all the days of my life.

GOETZ. Why, in simple verity, your Swedes make no nice inquiries about
the season.

TERZKY (observing ISOLANI, whose hand trembles excessively so that he can
scarce direct his pen). Have you had that ugly complaint long, noble
brother? Despatch it.

ISOLANI. The sins of youth! I have already tried the chalybeate waters.
Well--I must bear it.

[TERZKY gives the paper to MARADAS; he steps to the table
to subscribe.

OCTAVIO (advancing to BUTLER). You are not over-fond of the orgies of
Bacchus, colonel! I have observed it. You would, I think, find yourself
more to your liking in the uproar of a battle than of a feast.

BUTLER. I must confess 'tis not in my way.

OCTAVIO (stepping nearer to him friendlily). Nor in mine neither, I can
assure you; and I am not a li