Conquered us here. His love and not his arms
Wove our disaster.
Ch.Love and faith have conquered.
Yet did his sword no less avenge his death.
See, prince, ’tis here, wet with the murderer’s blood.
It savèd thee. For this we may rejoice:
And that we shall return.
En. Ye shall return. But now ’tis not an hour
For your rejoicing. Still your tongues. And, Sala,
It lies with thee in place of thy king dead