War. A hateful task is mine.
The barbarous sentence I must see enforced.
Oh! would we were upon the banks of Avon!—
Count. Would that we were! my arm fast lock'd in thine,
Not clad in steel, but—
War. Hark! the bell has struck
That calls me to my duty.
Count. I did not hear it.
The wind, more kind than thou, has shook its wings,
And the unwelcome sound dispersed in pity.
Nay, thou mayst linger yet.
Enter Attendant, followed by Dunois.
War. Whence this intrusion?
Du N. Bid him retire. (Raises his vizor.)
War. Du Nois! what madness brings thee?
Du N. That which hath turned the fate of empires, kings—
Mine now is in thy hands.
War. Explain. (I tremble.)