_Coz._ You will o'ercome; There's no contending with you. Pray you, enjoy What you desire, and tell him, he shall have A speedy trial; in which, we will forbear To sit a judge, because our purpose is To rise up his accuser. _Fior._ All increase Of happiness wait on Cozimo! [_Exeunt_ FIORINDA _and_ CALAMINTA. _Alph._ Was it no more? _Char._ My honour's pawn'd for it. _Cont._ I'll second you. _Hip._ Since it is for the service and the safety Of the hopeful prince, fall what can fall, I'll run The desperate hazard. _Hier._ He's no friend to virtue That does decline it. [_They all come forward and kneel._ _Coz._ Ha! what sue you for? Shall we be ever troubled? Do not tempt That anger may consume you. _Char._ Let it, sir: The loss is less, though innocents we perish, Than that your sister's son should fall, unheard, Under your fury. Shall we fear to entreat That grace for him, that are your faithful servants, Which you vouchsafe the count, like us a subject? _Coz._ Did not we vow, till sickness had forsook Thy daughter Lidia, and she appear'd In her perfect health and beauty to plead for him, We were deaf to all persuasion? _Char._ And that hope, sir, Hath wrought a miracle. She is recover'd, And, if you please to warrant her, will bring The penitent prince before you. _Coz._ To enjoy Such happiness, what would we not dispense with? _Alph. Hip. Hier._ We all kneel for the prince. _Cont._ Nor can it stand With your mercy, that are gracious to strangers, To be cruel to your own. _Coz._ But art thou certain I shall behold her at the best? _Char._ If ever She was handsome, as it fits not me to say so, She is now much better'd. _Coz._ Rise; thou art but dead, If this prove otherwise. Lidia, appear, And feast an appetite almost pined to death With longing expectation to behold Thy excellencies: thou, as beauty's queen, Shalt censure[92] the detractors. Let my nephew Be led in triumph under her command; We'll have it so; and Sanazarro tremble To think whom he hath slander'd. We'll retire Ourselves a little, and prepare to meet A blessing, which imagination tells us We are not worthy of: and then come forth, But with such reverence, as if I were Myself the priest, the sacrifice my heart, To offer at the altar of that goodness That must or kill or save me. [_Exit._ _Char._ Are not these Strange gambols in the duke? _Alph._ Great princes have, Like meaner men, their weakness. _Hip._ And may use it Without control or check. _Cont._ 'Tis fit they should; Their privilege were less else, than their subjects'. _Hier._ Let them have their humours; there's no crossing them. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: [90] _States_,] i. e. _statesmen_, _men of power_. A common acceptation of the word. [91] _So constantly_,] i. e. _with such constancy_.