If not to kiss your hand, nor ev’n your feet,
At least the happy ground on which they walk.
Blan. Rise, rise. How can I less than welcome one
Who has so loyally stood by my son,
Through evil and through good.
Vic. A monument
As one might say, madam, ad perpetuam
Fidelis Amicitiæ Memoriam.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat. What! is my master home? Then, by the saints,