_Ram._ Stay, I entreat thee—one hath now prevailed. So far is certain. _Osma_. Aye, the right prevails. _Ram._ Transient and vain their joyance, who rejoice Precipitately and intemperately, And bitter thoughts grow up where’er it fell. _Osma_. Nor vain and transient theirs, who idly float Down popularity’s unfertile stream And fancy all their own that rises round? _Ram._ If thou still lovest, as I know thou dost, Thy king— [_Osma interrupting_. _Osma_. I love him; for he owes me much Brave soul, and cannot, though he would, repay. Service and faith, pure faith and service hard, Throughout his reign, if these things be desert, These have I borne toward him, and still bear. _Ram._ Come, from thy solitary eiry come, And share the prey so plenteous and profuse Which a less valourous brood will else consume. Much fruit is shaken down in civil storms, And shall not orderly and loyal hands Gather it up? Again! [_loud shouts_] and still refuse? How different are those citizens without From thee! from thy serenity! thy arch, Thy firmament, of intrepidity! For their new lord, whom they have never served, Afraid were they to shout, and only struck The pavement with their ferrels and their feet; Now they are certain of the great event Voices and hands they raise, and all contend Who shall be bravest in applauding most. Knowest thou these? _Osma_. Their voices I know well— And can they shout for him they would have slain? A prince untried they welcome; soon their doubts Are blown afar! _Ram._ Yes, brighter scenes arise. The disunited he alone unites, The weak with hope he strengthens, and the strong With justice. _Osma_. Wait: praise him when time hath given A soundness and consistency to praise: He shares it amply who bestows it right. _Ram._ Doubtest thou? _Osma_. Be it so: let us away; New courtiers come— _Ram._ And why not join the new. Let us attend him, and congratulate; Come on, they enter. _Osma_. This is now my post No longer: I could face them in the field, I cannot here. _Ram._ Tomorrow all may change; Be comforted. _Osma_. I want nor change nor comfort. _Ram._ The prisoner’s voice! _Osma_. The metropolitans? Triumph he may—not over me forgiven. This way, and thro’ the chapel—none are there. ACT III. SCENE 3. OPAS _and_ SISABERT.