Bravery and beauty and all gifts of pride;
And left them barbarous for lack of thee,
Sweet Pity, of human sorrow born: ’tis thou
Dost raise man ’bove the brutes: ’tis thou dost make
His heart so singular, that he alone,
Himself commiserating, against heaven
Pushes complaint, and finds within his heart
Room for all creatures, that like him are born
To suffer and perish.
Enter Captives from gate; they run to Ferdinand as they see him.