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What should I dread, whom fate forbids to die?

Nay, hath he not the means to lay on thee

Some yet more grievous travail?

Let him do 't:

I am arm'd in soul for all things.

They are wise

That do obeisance to Necessity.

Go to! fall down, fleech, kiss the lord of the hour:

Of me is Zeus accounted less than naught.

Let him work his will this little space, and lord it

Uncheck'd: his rule shall not endure in heaven.

But soft:—I see the courier of heaven's King,