Count.
So much the better, Colonel, for I muſt take a little breath. [He leans on his gun—Frederick goes up to him with great modeſty.]
Frederick.
Gentleman, I beg you will beſtow from your ſuperfluous wants ſomething to relieve the pain, and nouriſh the weak frame, of an expiring woman.
The Baron re-enters.
Count.
What police is here! that a nobleman’s amuſements ſhould be interrupted by the attack of vagrants.
Frederick.
Have pity, noble Sir, and relieve the diſtreſs of an unfortunate ſon, who ſupplicates for his dying mother.
Baron [taking out his purſe].
I think, young ſoldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, inſtead of begging.
Frederick.
I would with all my heart: but at this preſent moment my ſorrows are too great.—[Baron gives ſomething.] I entreat your pardon. What you have been ſo good as to give me is not enough.
Baron [ſurpriſed].
Not enough!
Frederick.
No, it is not enough.
Count.
The moſt ſingular beggar I ever met in all my travels.
