Why, brother, the blessed God above Can't have from us all an equal love. One prays for the sun, at which t'other will fret One is for dry weather-t'other for wet. What you, now, regard as with misery rife, Is to me the unclouded sun of life. If 'tis at the cost of the burgher and boor, I really am sorry that they must endure; But how can I help it? Here, you must know, 'Tis just like a cavalry charge 'gainst the foe: The steeds loud snorting, and on they go! Whoever may lie in the mid-career-- Be it my brother or son so dear, Should his dying groan my heart divide, Yet over his body I needs must ride, Nor pitying stop to drag him aside. (FIRST YAGER: True--who ever asks how another may bide?) Thus, my lads, 'tis my counsel, while On the soldier Dame Fortune deigns to smile, That we with both hands her bounty clasp, For it may not be much longer left to our grasp. Peace will be coming some over-night, And then there's an end of our martial might. The soldier unhorsed, and fresh mounted to boor, Ere you can think it 'twill be as before. As yet we're together firm bound in the land, The hilt is yet fast in the soldier's hand. But let 'em divide us, and soon we shall find, Short commons is all that remains behind.

First Cuirassier Monologue from Wallenstein's Camp: A Play

Rehearse First Cuirassier's monologue