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Were Priam the conqueror. . . Think, would he refrain?

Oh, stores of broideries would be trampled then!

Lord, care not for the cavillings of men!

The murmur of a people hath strange weight.

Who feareth envy, feareth to be great.

'Tis graceless when a woman strives to lead.

When a great conqueror yields, 'tis grace indeed.

So in this war thou must my conqueror be?

Yield! With good will to yield is victory!

Well, if I needs must Be it as thou hast said!

Quick! Loose me these bound slaves on which I tread,