Of life—far dearer than thy own.
Base Hesilrig, I hate thy name!
Thy crime a Pompey’s praise would mar:
A woman slay!—thou soldier’s shame!
With women only could’st thou war.
Yet worthy thou of such a lord;
And school’d his purpose to fulfil,
No right who knowledg’d, but the sword,
No reason, save his sovereign will:
The forms of justice, if employ’d,