_Ver._ By heaven, I think, That, when you coped with him in single fight, You had so much ado to conquer then, You fear to engage him in a second combat. _Alph._ The world knows how I fought: But old men have prerogative of tongue, And kings of power, and parents that of nature. Your pardon, royal sir. _Vera._ I give it you; Your battle now is paid at the full price. [XIMENA _whispers_ ALPHONSO _for a moment_. _Alph._ Fear not, I curb myself. [_To_ XIMENA. _Ram._ [_To_ VERA.] Your son has mentioned honourable terms; Propose them, Veramond, and for his sake, So much his valour and rare courtesy Have wrought upon my soul, I will accept them. _Vera._ Who gave you leave To speak of terms, or even to speak at all? _Ram._ And who should give me liberty of speaking, But heaven, who gave me speech? _Vera._ How dares my captive Assume this boldness to his conqueror? _Ram._ You have not conquered me; you could not, Veramond. 'Tis to Alphonso's arms that I am prisoner. _Vera._ Under my auspices Alphonso fought; He led my forces. _Ram._ Yes, and made them too By his example; else they ne'er had conquered. _Vera._ A bargain! a plain compact! a confederacy, Betwixt my son and thee, to give me part Of what my better stars make all my own. _Alph._ Sir, I must speak---- _Vera._ Dare not, I charge thee, dare not! _Alph._ Not vindicate my honour? By heaven I will, to all the world, to you: My honour is my own, and not derived From this frail body, and this earth you gave me; But that etherial spark, which heaven inspired, And kindled in my new-created soul. You tell me, I have bargained with Ramirez, To make his ransom cheap. _Vera._ To make it nothing, To rob thy father of his victory, And, at my cost, oblige my mortal foe. Fool, dost thou know the value of a kingdom? _Alph._ I think I do, because I won a kingdom. _Vera._ And knowest not how to keep it. _Ram._ What claim have you? What right to my Castile? _Vera._ The right of conquest; for, when kings make war, No law betwixt two sovereigns can decide, But that of arms, where fortune is the judge, Soldiers the lawyers, and the bar the field _Alph._ But with what conscience can you keep that crown, To which you claim no title but the sword? _Vera._ Then ask that question of thyself, when thou Thyself art king. I will retain my conquest; And if thou art so mean, so poor of soul, As to refuse thy sword in keeping it, Then Garcia's aid,-- Whose share of honour in that glorious day Was more than thine,--during my life, shall guard it, And, at my death, shall heir it. _Alph._ Don Garcia is indeed a valiant prince; But this large courtesy, this over-praise You give his worth, in any other mouth, Were villainy to me.