Frederick.
I will carry you in my arms to Alſace. No—why ſhould I ever know my father, if he is a villain! My heart is ſatisfied with a mother.—No—I will not go to him. I will not diſturb his peace—I leave that taſk to his conſcience. What ſay you, mother, can’t we do without him? [Struggling between his tears and his pride.] We don’t want him. I will write directly to my captain. Let the conſequence be what it will, leave you again I cannot. Should I be able to get my diſcharge, I will work all day at the plough, and all the night with my pen. It will do, mother, it will do! Heaven’s goodneſs will aſſift me—it will proſper the endeavours of a dutiful ſon for the ſake of a helpleſs mother.
Agatha. [preſſes him to her breaſt].
Where could be found ſuch another ſon?
Frederick.
But tell me my father’s name, that I may know how to ſhun him.
Agatha.
Baron Wildenhaim.
Frederick.
Baron Wildenhaim! I ſhall never forget it.—Oh! you are near fainting. Your eyes are caſt down. What’s the matter? Speak, mother!
Agatha.
Nothing particular.—Only fatigued with talking. I wiſh to take a little reſt.
Frederick.
I did not conſider that we have been all this time in the open road. [Goes to the Inn, and knocks at the door.] Here, Landlord!
