_Char._ 'Tis said nobly; For princes never more make known their wisdom, Than when they cherish goodness where they find it: They being men, and not gods, Contarino, They can give wealth and titles, but no virtues; That is without their power. When they advance, Not out of judgment, but deceiving fancy, An undeserving man, howe'er set off With all the trim of greatness, state, and power, And of a creature even grown terrible To him from whom he took his giant form, This thing is still a comet, no true star; And when the bounties feeding his false fire Begin to fail, will of itself go out, And what was dreadful proves ridiculous. But in our Sanazarro 'tis not so, He being pure and tried gold; and any stamp Of grace, to make him current to the world, The duke is pleased to give him, will add honour To the great bestower; for he, though allow'd Companion to his master, still preserves His majesty in full lustre. _Cont._ He, indeed, At no part does take from it, but becomes A partner of his cares, and eases him, With willing shoulders, of a burden which He should alone sustain. _Char._ Is he yet married? _Cont._ No, signior, still a bachelor; howe'er It is apparent that the choicest virgin For beauty, bravery, and wealth, in Florence, Would, with her parents' glad consent, be won, Were his affection and intent but known To be at his devotion. _Char._ So I think too. But break we off--here comes my princely charge. _Enter_ GIOVANNI _and_ CALANDRINO. Make your approaches boldly; you will find A courteous entertainment. [CONT. _kneels_. _Giov._ Pray you, forbear My hand, good signior; 'tis a ceremony Not due to me. 'Tis fit we should embrace With mutual arms. _Cont._ It is a favour, sir, I grieve to be denied. _Giov._ You shall o'ercome: But 'tis your pleasure, not my pride, that grants it. Nay, pray you, guardian, and good sir, put on: How ill it shows to have that reverend head Uncover'd to a boy! _Char._ Your excellence Must give me liberty to observe the distance And duty that I owe you. _Giov._ Owe me duty! I do profess (and when I do deny it, Good fortune leave me!) you have been to me A second father, and may justly challenge, For training up my youth in arts and arms, As much respect and service as was due To him that gave me life. And did you know, sir, Or will believe from me, how many sleeps Good Charomonte hath broken, in his care To build me up a man, you must confess Chiron, the tutor to the great Achilles, Compared with him, deserves not to be named. And if my gracious uncle, the great duke, Still holds me worthy his consideration, Or finds in me aught worthy to be loved, That little rivulet flow'd from this spring; And so from me report him.