Frederick.
Yes, mother.
Agatha.
Oh! oh!
Frederick.
What is the matter? [She burſts into tears.] For Heaven’s ſake, mother, tell me what’s the matter?
Agatha.
You have no certificate.
Frederick.
No!
Agatha.
No.—The laws of Germany excluded you from being regiſtered at your birth—for—you are a natural ſon!
Frederick. [ſtarts—after a pauſe].
So!—And who is my father?
Agatha.
Oh Frederick, your wild looks are daggers to my heart. Another time.
Frederick. [endeavouring to conceal his emotion].
No, no—I am ſtill your ſon and you are ſtill my mother. Only tell me, who is my father?
Agatha.
When we parted five years ago, you were too young to be intruſted with a ſecret of ſo much importance. But the time is come when I can, in confidence, open my heart, and unload that burthen with which it has been long oppreſſed. And yet, to reveal my errors to my child, and ſue for his mild judgment on my conduct—
Frederick.
You have nothing to ſue for; only explain this myſtery.
