"Oh, my father! I conjure you, reflect, before, in compliance with an
oath it was almost guilt to make, you decree your only son to
everlasting shame and remorse. Act how I will, I shall never be happy
more. I cannot live under your malediction; and should I give up my
friend, my conscience will reproach me every instant of my existence.
Can I draw the breath which he prolonged and cease to remember that I
have abandoned him to want and misery? It were vain to flatter myself
that he will condescend to escape either by the munificence which you
offer as a compensation for my friendship. No; I cannot believe that
his sensible and independent nature is so changed; circumstances
never had any power over the nobility of his soul.
"Misfortune, which threw the Count Sobieski on the bounty of England,
cannot make him appear otherwise in my eyes than as the idol of
Warsaw, whose smile was honor and whose friendship conferred
distinction.
"Though deprived of the splendor of command; though the eager circle
of friends no longer cluster round him; though a stranger in this
country, and without a home; though, in place of an equipage and
retinue, he is followed by calamit and neglect, yet, in my mind, I
still see him in a car of triumph I see not only the opposer of his
nation's enemies, but the vanquisher of his own desires. I see the
heir of a princely house, who, when mankind have deserted him, is yet
encompassed by his virtues.
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