Myr.‍Were words. I pray you, let the proofs

Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise

This very night, and in my further bearing,500

Beside, wherever you are borne by fate.

Sar. I am content: and, trusting in my cause,

Think we may yet be victors and return

To peace—the only victory I covet.

To me war is no glory—conquest no

Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right

Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs[aj]