Thou shalt mar
Thy peace with mighty Jove, not wisely.
King.
Both ways I’m marred. Even here my wits are stranded.
With these or those harsh war to make, strong Force
Compels my will. Nailed am I like a vessel
Screwed to the dock, beneath the shipwright’s tool.
Which way I turn is woe. A plundered house
By grace of possessory Jove[n32] may freight
New ships with bales that far outweigh the loss;