How whetted now with such a taste of blood,
And thus far conquest!

KING.
Ay, and how he fought!
Oh how he fought, Astolfo; ranks of men
Falling as swathes of grass before the mower;
I could but pause to gaze at him, although,
Like the pale horseman of the Apocalypse,
Each moment brought him nearer--Yet I say,
I could but pause and gaze on him, and pray
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!--
So young too--and no soldier--