Nay, now I wonder not, the captive prates
With so secure presumption to his king.
Well may he brave me, while his murdering sword
Sits as before, insulting on his side.—
Who gave thee back that weapon?
Alph. I, who took it.
Vera. A careful son, to trust a foe with arms
So near his father.—Haste, disarm the prisoner.
Alph. Ere you dishonour me, first hear me speak:
I took his royal word, to be my prisoner;