Flo. There is a combatant on the defendant's part;
Your majesty's pleasure?
Cyp. Give him his oath according to the laws.
Flo. Are the fair ends of this your warlike posture
To prove the innocence of these two condemn'd?
So help you Jove!
Phil. They are.
Cyp. Then give the warlike signal to the fight.
Here the combat being fought, Philocles overcomes the Duke.
Phil. Thou art my slave, either confess or die.
Epire. Didst thou speak true, I would not sound a word
To save the world from cinders; yet that thou may'st
With more resolv'd fury murder me,
This I confess: 'twas I that only stirr'd,
Out of strong falsehood's hate and jealousy,
The king's eternal wrath, and made him think
Untruths, that even untruth would not suggest:
And all my malice sprung from that Prince Philocles.
Phil. No, 'twas from me, that still am Philocles.
Cyp. My Philocles, my queen! O, double pardon me,
My jealousy, his envy, and your virtues,
Are sprung from such impatient contraries,
I cannot reconcile them; yet, O, pardon me:
My faith in life shall make you recompense.
For thee, rare Mariana, thou hast wrought
A work of noble constant magnitude.
As for this monster, this my tempting devil,
Whose forfeit life is witness to his shame,
I give his life and fortunes to the queen,
She, whom his malice would have brought to death,
Shall now be judge and juror of his breath.