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If any unforgiven wrong to man Yet rests, how shall I lift my hands to him Who has made all men, and who cares for all, As children of one grand and wond'rous house, Wherein the mightiest monarch of the earth Holds but a little nook? I have been one, plac'd on a giddy height Of seeming greatness, therefore liable, In nature's poor infirmity, to acts Of blind and foolish pride. I have been one In much real feebleness, upheld, defended, By voluntary aid and gen'rous zeal Of valiant strangers owing me no service, And therefore liable, in the mind's weakness, Its saddest weakness, to ungrateful thoughts Tinctur'd with jealousy. If towards you, My noble friends, I have contracted guilt, I trust—I know—I beg—what shall I say? Your gen'rous hearts to all your deeds of love Will add a last forgiveness.

O no, most royal Constantine! to us And to all men thou'st ever worthy been, Noble and gracious; pardon at our hands Thou needest none.

O no, thou needest none! As we to thee have faithful followers been, Thou'st ever been to us a gen'rous lord.