[_Goes in with Ragunda. Enter second messenger_] _Mess._ O, sir---- _Phil._ Pray put your periods after news, Not 'fore. _Mess._ My lord, the tyrant's guards have made A second murderous sally from the castle, And with great brands of flame have fired the city! Now Dionysius, knowing he must forego The tyranny, would utterly destroy us, And wipe from earthly chronicle the name Of Syracuse! _Phil._ I'll come ... when I have turned A bolt within. [_Goes in_] [_Enter third messenger_] _Third mess._ Where is Phillistus? _Second mess._ [_Pointing to house_] There. _Third mess._ The people rage against him, and have sent Again to Dion, praying his return. [_Re-enter Phillistus_] _Phil._ Dion! He'll come. Then farewell crown and life! Where, men? _Third mess._ The fight is hardest where the wall Runs to the channel. _Phil._ On! That is the place. [_Exeunt toward bridge. The sky darkens, clouding the moon. On the road from the Greater Harbor enter men, women, and children, who run about confusedly in the darkness_] _First voice._ Where is the lord Phillistus? _Second voice._ Heraclides is wounded. _Third voice._ Dogs! They brought this hell on us! _Voices shrieking._ The guards! The guards! [_Soldiers of Dionysius rush on, road left, front, carrying brands which they cast about. They seize the people and put all to the sword_] _Soldiers._ To Achridina! To the heights! Burn all! [_Exeunt, right, rear, scattering brands, one of which lights the temple of Ceres seen through the trees, left. Enter citizens, left, front. They carry arms. Burning brands reveal the dead_] _First citizen._ See, friends! Here lie our pictures as we'll be A moment hence. _Second cit._ No hope now but in Dion! _Third cit._ [_As Dracon enters_] Dracon! _Dracon._ All lost--all lost. Put up your swords. The Carthaginian fleet lies in the bay, And by the sea-gate to the castle fort Empties her men into the tyrant's hand! _Second cit._ O Syracuse! _Dracon._ And next upon this news Phillistus and the admiral desert us, Flying to Dionysius. _Voices._ Traitors! dogs! _Dracon._ And now though Dion should forgive our baseness---- _Voices._ He will! he will! _Dracon._ His force and ours united Can not make stand against the strengthened foe. _Voices._ O woeful night! O bloody, bloody night! _Third cit._ Now sword and fire will make such havoc 'mong us There'll not be breath enough in all the city To say good-morrow to the sun. [_Cheers without, right, front. Enter a warrior at the head of troops. He wears helmet and carries shield_]