Silence, good comrades, to me give ear-- Talking does little to help us here. Much farther in this I can see than you all, And a trap has been laid in which we're to fall; (FIRST YAGER: List to the order-book! hush--be still!) But first, Cousin Gustel, I pray thee fill A glass of Melneck, as my stomach's but weak When I've tossed it off, my mind I'll speak. (SUTLER-WOMAN: Take it, good sergeant. I quake for fear-- Think you that mischief is hidden here?) Look ye, my friends, 'tis fit and clear That each should consider what's most near. But as the general says, say I, One should always the whole of a case descry. We call ourselves all the Friedlander's troops; The burgher, on whom we're billeted, stoops Our wants to supply, and cooks our soups. His ox, or his horse, the peasant must chain To our baggage-car, and may grumble in vain. Just let a lance-corp'ral, with seven good men, Tow'rd a village from far but come within ken, You're sure he'll be prince of the place, and may Cut what capers he will, with unquestioned sway. Why, zounds! lads, they heartily hate us all-- And would rather the devil should give them a call, Than our yellow collars. And why don't they fall On us fairly at once and get rid of our lumber? They're more than our match in point of number, And carry the cudgel as we do the sword. Why can we laugh them to scorn? By my word Because we make up here a terrible horde.

Sergeant Monologue from Wallenstein's Camp: A Play

Rehearse Sergeant's monologue