Poland had such a warrior for her king.
Ast. The cry of triumph on the other side
Gains ground upon us here—there’s but a moment
For you, my liege, to do, for me to speak,
Who back must to the field, and what man may,
Do, to retrieve the fortune of the day. (Firing.)
Fife (falling forward, shot). Oh, Lord, have mercy on me.
King. What a shriek—
Oh, some poor creature wounded in a cause
Perhaps not worth the loss of one poor life!—