King monologue (Act 1) — Demetrius: A Play

High claim Hath she upon thy filial reverence. Do her all honor. 'Twixt thy subjects and Thyself she stands, a sacred, precious link. No human law o'errides the imperial power; Nothing but nature may command its awe; Nor can thy people own a surer pledge, That thou art gentle, than thy filial love. I say no more. Much yet is to be done, Ere thou mak'st booty of the golden fleece. Expect no easy victory! Czar Boris rules with strong and skilful hand; You take the field against no common man. He that by merit hath achieved the throne, Is not puffed from his seat by popular breath; His deeds do serve to him for ancestors. To your good fortune I commend you now; Already twice, as by a miracle, Hath it redeemed you from the grasp of death; 'Twill put the finish on its work, and crown you.