DUCHATEL. My royal liege! I sought to spare thine ear So long as aid and counsel could be found; Now dire necessity doth loose my tongue. Naught hast thou now in presents to bestow, Thou hast not wherewithal to live to-morrow! The spring-tide of thy fortune is run out, And lowest ebb is in thy treasury! The soldiers, disappointed of their pay, With sullen murmurs, threaten to retire. My counsel faileth, not with royal splendor But meagerly, to furnish out thy household. CHARLES. My royal customs pledge, and borrow gold From the Lombardians. DUCHATEL. Sire, thy revenues, Thy royal customs are for three years pledged. DUNOIS.    And pledge meanwhile and kingdom both are lost. CHARLES. Still many rich and beauteous lands are ours. DUNOIS. So long as God and Talbot's sword permit! When Orleans falleth into English hands Then with King Rene thou may'st tend thy sheep! CHARLES. Still at this king thou lov'st to point thy jest; Yet 'tis this lackland monarch who to-day Hath with a princely crown invested me. DUNOIS. Not, in the name of heaven, with that of Naples, Which is for sale, I hear, since he kept sheep. 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 

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