CHARLES. It is a sportive festival, a jest, Wherein he giveth to his fancy play, To found a world all innocent and pure In this barbaric, rude reality. Yet noble--ay, right royal is his aim! He will again restore the golden age, When gentle manners reigned, when faithful love The heroic hearts of valiant knights inspired, And noble women, whose accomplished taste Diffuseth grace around, in judgment sat. The old man dwelleth in those bygone times, And in our workday world would realize The dreams of ancient bards, who picture life 'Mid bowers celestial, throned on golden clouds. He hath established hence a court of love Where valiant knights may dwell, and homage yield To noble women, who are there enthroned, And where pure love and true may find a home. Me he hath chosen as the prince of love. DUNOIS. I am not such a base, degenerate churl As love's dominion rudely to assail. I am her son, from her derive my name, And in her kingdom lies my heritage. The Prince of Orleans was my sire, and while No woman's heart was proof against his love, No hostile fortress could withstand his shock! Wilt thou, indeed, with honor name thyself The prince of love--be bravest of the brave! As I have read in those old chronicles, Love aye went coupled with heroic deeds, And valiant heroes, not inglorious shepherds, So legends tell us, graced King Arthur's board. The man whose valor is not beauty's shield Is all unworthy of her golden prize. Here the arena! combat for the crown, Thy royal heritage! With knightly sword Thy lady's honor and thy realm defend-- And hast thou with hot valor snatched the crown From streams of hostile blood,--then is the time, And it would well become thee as a prince, Love's myrtle chaplet round thy brows to wreathe. CHARLES (to a PAGE, who enters). What is the matter? PAGE. Senators from Orleans Entreat an audience, sire. CHARLES. Conduct them hither! [PAGE retires. Doubtless they succor need; what can I do, Myself all-succorless! SCENE III. The same. Three SENATORS. CHARLES. Welcome, my trusty citizens of Orleans! What tidings bring ye from my faithful town? Doth she continue with her wonted zeal Still bravely to withstand the leaguering foe? SENATOR. Ah, sire! the city's peril is extreme; And giant ruin, waxing hour by hour, Still onward strides. The bulwarks are destroyed-- The foe at each assault advantage gains; Bare of defenders are the city walls, For with rash valor forth our soldiers rush, While few, alas! return to view their homes, And famine's scourge impendeth o'er the town. In this extremity the noble Count Of Rochepierre, commander of the town, Hath made a compact with the enemy, According to old custom, to yield up, On the twelfth day, the city to the foe, Unless, meanwhile, before the town appear A host of magnitude to raise the siege. [DUNOIS manifests the strongest indignation. CHARLES. The interval is brief.