Attendants. (Running in) O, we are lost!
Off. The city will be sacked! The palace guards
Are but a handful!
Sem. False? O, Khosrove! False?
Then there is no man true? E’en Sumbat lost
To thy sweet promises! False! false!
(Enter a second officer)
Off. (Prostrating himself) Oh Ninus!
Call on thy gods! Thy enemies are at thee!
The palace is enclosed, and every foe
Bears in his hand a torch that blazes death
To all within!
(The inmates of the palace are running to and fro, rear, and looking fearfully out into the court below)
Sem. O beauteous gods, is this
Your earth? Where Falsehood steals your garments, nay
Your smile, seduces with your voice, and stamps
Your semblance upon fiends?
Voices. Save us, O king!
(Ninus stands immovable, as if made deaf and dumb by impending disaster)