Laz. The sword I lifted on an innocent man,
Has turn’d to wood at his assailant’s prayer!
Take it, my lord, lay ’t in your armoury
Among the chiefest relics of our time.
I freely give it you, upon condition
You give me any plain but solid weapon
To wear instead.
Prince. You are well out of it.
It shall be so.
Ces. My lord, indeed the dawn