That frets the bit, and fights against the reins,
Art thou, fierce-champing with most impotent rage;
For wilful strength that hath no wisdom in it
Is less than nothing.[n50] But bethink thee well;
If thou despise my words of timely warning,
What wintry storm, what threefold surge of woes
Whelms thee inevitable. Jove shall split
These craggy cliffs with his cloud-bosomed bolt,
And sink thee deep: the cold rock shall embrace thee;
There thou shalt lie, till he shall please to bring thee