"That rises in my bosom."

Arn. Let but reason

Weigh the dire consequence of such a flight.

Mar. The consequence! Why, what do you forsake But certain slaughter?

Arn. Horrid-damning thought!

Mar. I hop'd my risking wretchedness for love, Would have provok'd some emulation

Arn. Oh!

Mar. But thou art poor, the hero of pretence; And therefore thus for ever

Arn. Take me, lead

No, stop!it surely was some Siren's voice Would lure me to destruction-Off I-stand off!— Thou! thou art she that would ensnare my soul, Ruin my peace, and sacrifice my fame.

But timely be advis'd: forbear to urge

A deed that all the earth would scorn me for,
All hell want plagues to punish.

Mar. Be undone

Arn. Undone I am, whatever course I take-
Dreadful alternative! Despair, or death,
Or everlasting shame!

Mar. I did not pause:

I chose, for Arnold's love to hazard all:
To suffer, if misfortune were our lot,
And never once reproach him or repine.
But he rejects such truth, such tenderness-

Arn. Oh, hear me, help me, save me, sacred
pow'rs.

"Mar. Deserts a woman in adversity!

"And seeks, in death, a rescue from the woes

"Her fortitude encounters.

"Arn. 'Tis too much,

"It tears my brain !—my bosom !—Oh!”

Mar. Thou'rt pale !

Arn. Dizzy and sick-the objects swim before me.
Reach out thy hand to save me ere I sink :
Oh, what a deprivation of all pow'rs!

Lead me to my tent-I beg thee lead

"Mar. I will.

"Lean fearless on my arm, it can sustain thee."
Arn. Oh, boasted manhood-how I feel thy weak-

ness.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Opening, discovers a magnificent pavilion, in which King JOHN appears seated in state. On stools, below him, sit the DAUPHIN, Dukes of BERRY, ANJOU, TouRAIN and ORLEANS, ATHENS, SENS, RIBEMONT, CHARNEY, Lords, Attendants, and Guards all standing.

King. At length, we've caught these lions in our toils,

These English spoilers, who through all our realm Have mark'd their way with rapine, flames, and slaughters:

Now, by my sacred diadem, I swear,

Beyond a conqueror's joy my pleasure swells,

For that my foes have wrought their own confusion, And found misfortunes where they meant to deal them.

What say you, lords, must softening pity sway?
Or shall we glut our vengeance with their blood?
Char. Heav'n gives them up the victims of your
wrath;

Indulge it, then, to their destruction. Mercy
Would mark your majesty the foe of France.
Your bleeding country cries for retribution:
I join it, with a voice by woes enfeebled;
Hear, feel, and strike in such a moving cause,
The cause of wrongs, of wounds, of weeping age !
The widow'd bride, the childless father calls :
"The helpless, parentless, unshelter'd babe!
"Matrons bewailing their whole race cut off;
"And virgins panting from the recent rape !"
Oh, hear, redress,-revenge us, royal sir,
For vengeance now is in your pow'r to grant.
Rib. Anger and hatred are disgraceful motives,
Calm dignity should ever counsel kings,

And govern all their actions. When they strike,
It ne'er should be to gratify resentment,
But, like the arm omnipotent of Heav'n,
To further justice: to create an awe

May terrify from evil:-better minds-
Rectify and benefit society !

Ath. The nuncio,

Who follow'd fast your majesty to Poitiers,

Hath sent to claim an audience in behalf

Of yon endanger'd English.

Sens. Do not hear him.

King. Say, lord archbishop, wherefore should we

not?

Sens. Knowing your godlike and forgiving nature, I fear 'twill rob you of much martial glory :

Else might your fame in arms, for this day's action, Rival the boasts of Macedon or Rome!

And sure your valiant soldiers will repine,

To have the laurels, now so near their grasp,
Snatch'd from their hopes for ever.

Rib. Abject minion!

How shameful to that habit are such flatteries. [Aside. King. Yes, I well know my soldiers pant, impatient To seize this feeble quarry. But our foes,

I must remind you, are so close beset,

That famine soon will throw them on your mercy.
Princes and lords, what cause have we to fight?
Why should we waste a drop of Gallic blood,
When conquest may be ours on cheaper terms?
Dauph. But will it suit the glory of your arms
To wait their inclination to surrender?

Or ev❜n to grant such parley, as might plume
Their saucy pride t'expect capitulation?

Oh, no, my royal father, rush at once,

O'erwhelm them, crush them, finish them by slaughter. Rib. Think not, prince Dauphin, they'll e'er stoop

for terms:

Believe me, we have rather cause to expect

A fierce attack, to cut their passage through,

Or perish in the attempt. I know them well,
In many a field have try'd their stubborn spirit;
Have won some honour-by their king tho' van-
quish'd:

And when I ponder their intrepid courage,
How much they dare to suffer and attempt,

I'm lost in wonder! and no Cressy need
To make me tremble to provoke their fury.
Dauph. Your tongue, the herald of your vanity,
Methinks, is loud in what were better lost
To all remembrance-a disgraceful tale.
To boast of honours from a victor's bounty,
Is stooping low-is taking abject fame.
If you have valour, give it manly sway,
Busy your sword-but let your tongue be silent.
Rib. My talent never 'twas to idly vaunt-
King. No more of this-presumptuous Ribemont.
Princes and lords, we are yet undetermin'd.

I've sent a spy, of known abilities,

To find out the condition of our foes;

From whose report, in council, we'll resolve
On measures that may promise most success.
Mean time, do you inform the Nuncio, Athens,
His audience shall be granted. Lords, lead on:
We'll make our morning's progress through the camp.
[Exeunt King, Prince, &c.

Rib. What boasts made I?

I told the truth, and wherefore then this taunt ?
Shame on such modesty! The king, just now,