De Witt.—­It is very generous in your Majesty, not only to compassionate the fate of a man whose political principles made him an enemy to your greatness, but to ascribe it to the caprice and inconstancy of the people, as if there had been nothing very blamable in his conduct.  I feel the magnanimity of this discourse from your Majesty, and it confirms what I have heard of all your behaviour after my death.  But I must frankly confess that, although the rage of the populace was carried much too far when they tore me and my unfortunate brother to pieces, yet I certainly had deserved to lose their affection by relying too much on the uncertain and dangerous friendship of France, and by weakening the military strength of the State, to serve little purposes of my own power, and secure to myself the interested affection of the burgomasters or others who had credit and weight in the faction the favour of which I courted.  This had almost subjected my country to France, if you, great prince, had not been set at the head of the falling Republic, and had not exerted such extraordinary virtues and abilities to raise and support it, as surpassed even the heroism and prudence of William, our first Stadtholder, and equalled yon to the most illustrious patriots of Greece or Rome.

William.—­This praise from your mouth is glorious to me indeed!  What can so much exalt the character of a prince as to have his actions approved by a zealous Republican and the enemy of his house?

De Witt.—­If I did not approve them I should show myself the enemy of the Republic.  You never sought to tyrannise over it; you loved, you defended, you preserved its freedom.  Thebes was not more indebted to Epaminondas or Pelopidas for its independence and glory than the United Provinces were to you.  How wonderful was it to see a youth, who had scarce attained to the twenty-second year of his age, whose spirit had been depressed and kept down by a jealous and hostile faction, rising at once to the conduct of a most arduous and perilous war, stopping an enemy victorious, triumphant, who had penetrated into the heart of his country, driving him back and recovering from him all he had conquered:  to see this done with an army in which a little before there was neither discipline, courage, nor sense of honour!  Ancient history has no exploit superior to it; and it will ennoble the modern whenever a Livy or a Plutarch shall arise to do justice to it, and set the hero who performed it in a true light.

William.—­Say, rather, when time shall have worn out that malignity and rancour of party which in free States is so apt to oppose itself to the sentiments of gratitude and esteem for their servants and benefactors.