King. No reason but the law should have its course.
Enter Euphues.
Euph. Pardon, dread sovereign, pardon for my son.
King. Your son, Lord Euphues! what is his offence?
Euph. No heinous one, my liege, no plot of treason
Against your royal person or your state:
These aged cheeks would blush to beg a pardon
For such a foul offence: no crying murder
Hath stain'd his innocent hands; his fault was love—
Love, my dear liege. Unfortunately he took
The daughter and heir of Lord Polymetes,
Who follows him, and seeks extremity.
Pol. I seek but law; I am abus'd, my liege,
Justice is all I beg: my daughter's stol'n,
Staff of my age; let the law do me right.
Vir. To his just prayers do I bend my knee.
My promis'd wife is stol'n, and by the son
Of that injurious lord: justice I crave.
Euph. Be like those powers above, whose place on earth
You represent; show mercy, gracious king,
For they are merciful.
Pol. Mercy is but the king's prerogative,
'Tis justice is his office: doing that,
He can wrong no man, no man can complain;
But mercy show'd oft takes away relief
From the wrong'd party, that the law would give him.
Euph. The law is blind, and speaks in general terms;
She cannot pity where occasion serves:
The living law can moderate her rigour,
And that's the king.