Fighting against his country; took me home;
     Tended me like a brother till recover’d,
     Perchance to fight against him once again
     And now my sword put back into my hand
     By his—­if not his son—­still, as so seeming,
     By me, as first devoir of gratitude,
     To seem believing, till the wearer’s self
     See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask. 
     (Aloud.)
     Well, a strange turn of fortune has arrested
     The sharp and sudden penalty that else
     Had visited your rashness or mischance: 
     In part, your tender youth too—­pardon me,
     And touch not where your sword is not to answer—­
     Commends you to my care; not your life only,
     Else by this misadventure forfeited;
     But ev’n your errand, which, by happy chance,
     Chimes with the very business I am on,
     And calls me to the very point you aim at.

     Ros. 
     The capital?

     CLO. 
     Ay, the capital; and ev’n
     That capital of capitals, the Court: 
     Where you may plead, and, I may promise, win
     Pardon for this, you say unwilling, trespass,
     And prosecute what else you have at heart,
     With me to help you forward all I can;
     Provided all in loyalty to those
     To whom by natural allegiance
     I first am bound to.

     Ros. 
     As you make, I take
     Your offer:  with like promise on my side
     Of loyalty to you and those you serve,
     Under like reservation for regards
     Nearer and dearer still.

     CLO. 
     Enough, enough;
     Your hand; a bargain on both sides.  Meanwhile,
     Here shall you rest to-night.  The break of day
     Shall see us both together on the way.

     Ros. 
     Thus then what I for misadventure blamed,
     Directly draws me where my wishes aim’d.

     (Exeunt.)

SCENE II.—­The Palace at Warsaw

Enter on one side Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, with his train:  and, on the other, the Princess Estrella, with hers.

     Astolfo. 
     My royal cousin, if so near in blood,
     Till this auspicious meeting scarcely known,
     Till all that beauty promised in the bud
     Is now to its consummate blossom blown,
     Well met at last; and may—­

     Estrella. 
     Enough, my Lord,
     Of compliment devised for you by some
     Court tailor, and, believe me, still too short
     To cover the designful heart below.

     Ast.
     Nay, but indeed, fair cousin—­

     EST.
     Ay, let Deed
     Measure your words, indeed your flowers of speech
     Ill with your iron equipage atone;
     Irony indeed, and wordy compliment.

     Ast.
     Indeed, indeed, you wrong me, royal cousin,
     And fair as royal, misinterpreting
     What, even for the end you think I aim at,
     If false to you, were fatal to myself.