Believe me, honest friend, of all the bolts,
Which spiteful fortune hurls against my crown,
None strike so deeply, as my poor ability
Now to requite thy faith.
Gondi. The subject, madam,
Who, in his poor endeavour, can relieve
A sovereign from distress, they, who are loyal,
Will pour down blessings on him; that requital
Threefold o'erpays his services. But here,