Quick, man,—think of something better,
That'll make me both great and safe,
And further, exactly like to
King Apis that's on my back!
Peer.
What if your highness hanged you,
And then, in the lap of earth,
'Twixt the coffin's natural frontiers,
Kept still and completely dead.
The Fellah.
I'll do it! My life for a halter!
To the gallows with hide and hair!—
At first there will be some difference,
But that time will smooth away.
[Goes off and prepares to hang himself.
Begriffenfeldt.
There's a personality for you, Herr Peer,—
A man of method
Peer.
Yes, yes; I see;
But he'll really hang himself! God grant us grace!
I'll be ill;—I can scarcely command my thoughts!
Begriffenfeldt.
A state of transition; it won't last long.
Peer.
Transition? To what? With your leave—I must go
Begriffenfeldt.
[Holding him.]
Are you crazy?
