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Ost. Nothing: my thoughts are gone from me in the darkness of astonishment.

Prior. We are compelled to be thus hasty and severe: ere day-break you must die.

Ost. Ere day-break! not even the light of another sun to one so ill prepared for the awful and tremendous state into which you would thrust him! this is inhuman! it is horrible!

Prior. He was as ill prepared for it, who, with still shorter warning, was thrust into that awful state in the narrow pass of St. Gothard.

Ost. The guilt of murder was not on his soul.—Nay, nay, holy Prior, consider this horrible extremity: let the pain of the executioner's stroke be twenty-fold upon me; but thrust me not forth to that state from which my soul recoils with unutterable horror!Never but once, to save the life of a friend, did I bend the knee to mortal man in humble supplication. I am a soldier; in many battles I have bled for the service of my country: I am a noble soldier, and I was a proud one; yet do I thus—contemn not my extremity—my knee is on the ground.

Prior. Urge me no further. It must not be; no respite can be granted.

Then subdue as you may, stern priest, the strength of a desperate man. (Wovelreid and Soldiers rush forward, getting behind him, and surrounding him on}}