rest love.

BURGUNDY (placing a diamond rose in her hair).
Why, is it not the diadem of France?
With full as glad a spirit I would place
The golden circle on this lovely brow.

[Taking her hand significantly.

And count on me if, at some future time
You should require a friend.

[AGNES SOREL bursts into tears, and steps aside.
THE KING struggles with his feelings. The bystanders
contemplate the two princes with emotion.

BURGUNDY (after gazing round the circle, throws himself into
the KING'S arms).
Oh, my king!

[At the same moment the three Burgundian knights hasten to DUNOIS,
LA HIRE, and the ARCHBISHOP. They embrace each other. The two
PRINCES remain for a time speechless in each other's arms.

I could renounce you! I could bear your hate!

CHARLES.
Hush! hush! No further!

BURGUNDY.
I this English king
Could crown! Swear fealty to this foreigner!
And you, my sovereign, into ruin plunge!

CHARLES.
Forget it! Everything's forgiven now!
This single moment doth obliterate all.
'Twas a malignant star! A destiny!

BURGUNDY (grasps his hand).
Believe me, sire, I'll make amends for all.
Your bitter sorrow I will compensate;
You shall receive your kingdom back entire,
A solitary village shall not fail!

CHARLES.
We are united. Now I fear no foe.

BURGUNDY.
Trust me, it was not with a joyous spirit
That I bore arms against you. Did you know?
Oh, wherefore sent you not this messenger?

[Pointing to SOREL.

I must have yielded to her gentle tears.
Henceforth, since breast to breast we have embraced,
No power of hell again shall sever us!
My erring course ends here. His sovereign's heart
Is the true resting-place for Burgundy.

ARCHBISHOP (steps between them).
Ye are united, princes! France doth rise
A renovated phoenix from its ashes.
The auspicious future greets us with a smile.
The country's bleeding wounds will heal again,
The villages, the desolated towns,
Rise in new splendor from their ruined heaps,
The fields array themselves in beauteous green;
But those who, victims of your quarrel, fell,
The dead, rise not again; the bitter tears,
Caused by your strife, remain forever wept!
One generation hath been doomed to woe;
On their descendants dawns a brighter day;
The gladness of the son wakes not the sire.
This the dire fruitage of your brother-strife!
Oh, princes, learn from hence to pause with dread,
Ere from its scabbard ye uns