SENATOR.
Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme;
And giant ruin, waxing hour by hour,
Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed—
The foe at each assault advantage gains;
Bare of defenders are the city walls,
For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush,
While few, alas! return to view their homes,
And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town.
In this extremity the noble Count
Of Rochepierre, commander of the town,
Hath made a compact with the enemy,
According to old custom, to yield up,
On the twelfth day, the city to the foe,
Unless, meanwhile, before the town appear
A host of magnitude to raise the siege.
[DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation.
CHARLES.
The interval is brief.
SENATOR.
We hither come,
Attended by a hostile retinue,
To implore thee, sire, to pity thy poor town,
And to send succor ere the appointed day,
When, if still unrelieved, she must surrender.
DUNOIS.
And could Saintrailles consent to give his voice
To such a shameful compact?
SENATOR.
Never, sir!
Long as the hero lived, none dared to breathe
A single word of treaty or surrender.
DUNOIS.
He then is dead?
SENATOR.
The noble hero fell,
His monarch's cause defending on our walls.
CHARLES.
What! Saintrailles dead! Oh, in that single man
A host is foundered!
[A Knight enters and speaks apart with DUNOIS,
who starts with surprise.