André.
Thou hast a father, captive—
I dare not ask—
Bland.
That father dies for thee.
André.
Gracious heaven! how woes are heap'd upon me!
What! cannot one, so trifling in life's scene,
Fall, without drawing such a ponderous ruin?
Leave me, my friend, awhile—I yet have life—
A little space of life—let me exert it
To prevent injustice:—From death to save
Thy father, thee to save from utter desolation.
Bland.
André.
Seek thou the messenger
Who brought this threat. I will my last entreaty
Send by him. My General, sure, will grant it.