Enter again. Bring hither the young prince of Portingal! The rest march on, but, ere they be dismiss'd, We will bestow on every soldier Two ducats, and on every leader ten, That they may know our largesse welcomes them. Exeunt all [the army] but BAL[THAZAR], LOR[ENZO], and HOR[ATIO]. KING. Welcome, Don Balthazar! Welcome nephew! And thou, Horatio, thou art welcome too! Young prince, although thy father's hard misdeeds In keeping back the tribute that he owes Deserve but evil measure at our hands, Yet shalt thou know that Spain is honourable. BALT. The trespass that my father made in peace Is now controll'd by fortune of the wars; And cards once dealt, it boots not ask why so. His men are slain,--a weakening to his realm; His colours seiz'd,--a blot unto his name; His son distress'd,--a corsive to his heart; These punishments may clear his late offence. KING. Aye, Balthazar, if he observe this truce, Our peace will grow the stronger for these wars. Meanwhile live thou, though not in liberty, Yet free from bearing any servile yoke; For in our hearing thy deserts were great. And in our sight thyself art gracious. BALT. And I shall study to deserve this grace. KING. But tell me,--for their holding makes me doubt: To which of these twain art thou prisoner? LOR. To me, my liege. HOR. To me, my sovereign. LOR. This hand first took his courser by the reins. HOR. But first my lance did put him from his horse. LOR. I seiz'd the weapon and enjoy'd it first. HOR. But first I forc'd him lay his weapons down. KING. Let go his arm, upon my privilege! Let him go. Say, worthy prince: to whether didst thou yield? BALT. To him in courtesy; to this perforce; He spake me fair, this other gave me strokes; He promis'd life, this other threaten'd death; He won my love, this other conquer'd me; And, truth to say, I yield myself to both. HIERO. But that I know your Grace is just and wise, And might seem partial in this difference, Enforc'd by nature and by law of arms, My tongue should plead for young Horatio's right. He hunted well that was a lion's death, Not he that in a garment wore his skin; So hares may pull dead lions by the beard. KING. Content thee, marshall; thou shalt have no wrong, And for thy sake thy son shall want to right. Will both abide the censure of my doom? LOR. I crave no better than your Grace awards. HOR. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.