The Death of Wallenstein (Act 4 Scene 8) Friedrich Schiller (Ft. S. T. Coleridge)

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GORDON and BUTLER.

GORDON
(looking after them).
Unhappy men! How free from all foreboding
They rush into the outspread net of murder
In the blind drunkenness of victory;
I have no pity for their fate. This Illo,
This overflowing and foolhardy villain,
That would fain bathe himself in his emperor's blood.

BUTLER.
Do as he ordered you. Send round patrols,
Take measures for the citadel's security;
When they are within I close the castle-gate
That nothing may transpire.

GORDON
(with earnest anxiety).
Oh! haste not so!
Nay, stop; first tell me——

BUTLER.
You have heard already,
To-morrow to the Swedes belongs. This night
Alone is ours. They make good expedition.
But we will make still greater. Fare you well.