Читать книгу Wallenstein's Camp - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 7

             See! see!

  Here meet we a jovial company!

  Who can these greencoats be, I wonder,

  That strut so gay and sprucely yonder!

  They're the Yagers of Holk – and the lace they wear,

  I'll be sworn, was ne'er purchased at Leipzig fair.

  Welcome, good sirs!

            Zounds, how now?

  Gustel of Blasewitz here, I vow!

  The same in sooth – and you I know,

  Are the lanky Peter of Itzeho:

  Who at Glueckstadt once, in revelling night,

  With the wags of our regiment, put to flight

  All his father's shiners – then crowned the fun —

  By changing his pen for a rifle-gun.

  We're old acquaintance, then, 'tis clear.

  And to think we should meet in Bohemia here!

  Oh, here to-day – to-morrow yonder —

  As the rude war-broom, in restless trace,

  Scatters and sweeps us from place to place.

  Meanwhile I've been doomed far round to wander.

  So one would think, by the look of your face.

  Up the country I've rambled to Temsewar,

  Whither I went with the baggage-car,

  When Mansfeld before us we chased away;

  With the duke near Stralsund next we lay,

  Where trade went all to pot, I may say.

  I jogged with the succors to Mantua;

  And back again came, under Feria:

  Then, joining a Spanish regiment,

  I took a short cut across to Ghent;

  And now to Bohemia I'm come to get

  Old scores paid off, that are standing yet,

  If a helping hand by the duke be lent —

  And yonder you see my sutler's tent.

  Well, all things seem in a flourishing way,

  But what have you done with the Scotchman, say,

  Who once in the camp was your constant flame?

  A villain, who tricked me clean, that same

  He bolted, and took to himself whate'er

  I'd managed to scrape together, or spare,

  Leaving me naught but the urchin there.

  Mother, is it my papa you name?

  Well, the emperor now must father this elf,

  For the army must ever recruit itself.

  Forth to the school, ye rogue – d'ye hear?

  He, too, of a narrow room has fear.

  SERVANT GIRL (entering).

  Aunt, they'll be off.

             I come apace.

  What gypsy is that with the roguish face?

  My sister's child from the south, is she.

  Ay, ay, a sweet little niece – I see.

  SECOND YAGER (holding the girl).

  Softly, my pretty one! stay with me.

  The customers wait, sir, and I must go.

  That maiden's a dainty morsel, I trow!

  And her aunt – by heaven! I mind me well, —

  When the best of the regiment loved her so,

  To blows for her beautiful face they fell.

  What different folks one's doomed to know!

  How time glows off with a ceaseless flow!

  And what sights as yet we may live to see!

  Your health, good sirs, may we be free,

  A seat beside you here to take?