Start not at what I say, sir Generals!
My real motives—they concern not you.
And you yourselves, I trust, could not expect
That this your game had crook'd my judgment—or
That fickleness, quick blood, or such like cause,
Has driven the old man from the track of honour,
Which he so long had trodden.—Come, my friends!
I'm not thereto determin'd with less firmness,
Because I know and have look'd steadily
At that on which I have determin'd.
ILLO.
And speak roundly, what are we to deem you?
BUTLER.
With all I have. Not only men, but money
Will the Duke want. Go, tell him, sirs!
I've earn'd and laid up somewhat in his service,
I lend it him; and is he my survivor,
It has been already long ago bequeath'd him.
He is my heir. For me, I stand alone
Here in the world; nought know I of the feeling
That bind the husband to a wife and children.
My name dies with me, my existence ends.
ILLO.
Like your's weighs tons of gold down, weighs down millions!
BUTLER.
To Prague—and with a master, whom I buried.