'Tis vain! They have been fed with hope too often.

CHARLES.
They are the finest troops of all my hosts!
They must not now, not now abandon me!

SENATOR (throwing himself at the KING'S feet).
Oh, king, assist us! Think of our distress!

CHARLES (in despair).
How! Can I summon armies from the earth?
Or grow a cornfield on my open palm?
Rend me in pieces! Pluck my bleeding heart
Forth from my breast, and coin it 'stead of gold!
I've blood for you, but neither gold nor troops.

[He sees SOREL approach, and hastens towards her
with outstretched arms.



SCENE IV.

The same. AGNES SOREL, a casket in her hand.

CHARLES.
My Agnes! Oh, my love! My dearest life!
Thou comest here to snatch me from despair!
Refuge I take within thy loving arms!
Possessing thee I feel that nothing is lost.