Capt. 
     Sir, you hear;
     A little hesitation and delay,
     And all is lost—­your own right, and the lives
     Of those who now maintain it at that cost;
     With you all saved and won; without, all lost. 
     That former recognition of your right
     Grant but a dream, if you will have it so;
     Great things forecast themselves by shadows great: 
     Or will you have it, this like that dream too,
     People, and place, and time itself, all dream
     Yet, being in’t, and as the shadows come
     Quicker and thicker than you can escape,
     Adopt your visionary soldiery,
     Who, having struck a solid chain away,
     Now put an airy sword into your hand,
     And harnessing you piece-meal till you stand
     Amidst us all complete in glittering,
     If unsubstantial, steel—­

     Rosaura (without). 
     The Prince!  The Prince!

     Capt. 
     Who calls for him?

     Sol. 
     The Page who spurr’d us hither,
     And now, dismounted from a foaming horse—­

     (Enter Rosaura)

     Rosaura. 
     Where is—­but where I need no further ask
     Where the majestic presence, all in arms,
     Mutely proclaims and vindicates himself.

     Fife. 
     My darling Lady-lord—­

     Ros. 
     My own good Fife,
     Keep to my side—­and silence!—­Oh, my Lord,
     For the third time behold me here where first
     You saw me, by a happy misadventure
     Losing my own way here to find it out
     For you to follow with these loyal men,
     Adding the moment of my little cause
     To yours; which, so much mightier as it is,
     By a strange chance runs hand in hand with mine;
     The self-same foe who now pretends your right,
     Withholding mine—­that, of itself alone,
     I know the royal blood that runs in you
     Would vindicate, regardless of your own: 
     The right of injured innocence; and, more,
     Spite of this epicene attire, a woman’s;
     And of a noble stock I will not name
     Till I, who brought it, have retrieved the shame. 
     Whom Duke Astolfo, Prince of Muscovy,
     With all the solemn vows of wedlock won,
     And would have wedded, as I do believe,
     Had not the cry of Poland for a Prince
     Call’d him from Muscovy to join the prize
     Of Poland with the fair Estrella’s eyes. 
     I, following him hither, as you saw,
     Was cast upon these rocks; arrested by
     Clotaldo:  who, for an old debt of love
     He owes my family, with all his might
     Served, and had served me further, till my cause
     Clash’d with his duty to his sovereign,
     Which, as became a loyal subject, sir,
     (And never sovereign had a loyaller,)