In Fortune's ship, with an onward gale, My friend, you have made up your mind to sail. The earth-ball is open before you--yet there Naught's to be gained, but by those who dare. Stupid and sluggish your citizen's found, Like a dyer's dull jade, in his ceaseless round, While the soldier can be whatever he will, For war o'er the earth is the watchword still. Just look now at me, and the coat I wear, You see that the emperor's baton I bear-- And all good government, over the earth, You must know from the baton alone has birth; For the sceptre that's swayed by the kingly hand Is naught but a baton, we understand. And he who has corporal's rank obtained, Stands on the ladder where all's to be gained, And you, like another, may mount to that height-- (FIRST YAGER: Provided you can but read and write.) Now, hark to an instance of this from me, And one, which I've lived myself to see There's Butler, the chief of dragoons, why he, Whose rank was not higher a whit than mine, Some thirty years since, at Cologne on Rhine, Is a major-general now--because He put himself forward and gained applause; Filling the world with his martial fame, While slept my merits without a name. And even the Friedlander's self--I've heard-- Our general and all-commanding lord, Who now can do what he will at a word, Had at first but a private squire's degree; In the goddess of war yet trusting free, He reared the greatness which now you see, And, after the emperor, next is he. Who knows what more he may mean or get? (Slyly.) For all-day's evening isn't come yet.

Sergeant Monologue from Wallenstein's Camp: A Play

Rehearse Sergeant's monologue