With modest backwardness, unto whose charity
I must be debtor also. Worthy Heugho,
Since earliest youth I from thy friendly hand
Have daily kindly offices receiv'd,
Proffer'd with love, exceeding far all duty
Belonging to thy state; yet, ne'ertheless,
I once, in a most vile and fretful mood,
Vex'd with cross'd things, thine honour'd age forgot.
HEUGHO.
It breaks my heart that you should still remember.
CONSTANTINE.
I know I am forgiv'n; but lay thy hand,
Thine aged hand, upon thy master's head,
And give him a last blessing. Thou art now
Like to an ancient father with us grown,
And my heart says that it will do me good.
(Bowing his head, whilst Heugho, lifting up his aged hands over him, is unable to speak, but bursts into tears, and falls upon his master's neck. The band of friends close round and conceal them: afterwards they open to make way, and Constantine comes forward with a firm enlightened countenance.)
To think we all are knit in holy bands
