You threat, and ever thunder threatening!
Pour seething prophesy into my veins,
Till a simoon of madness in me moves.
Am I not king, the king? chosen and sealed?
Who’ve been anathema and have been bane
Unto the foes of Israel, and filled
The earth with death of them?
And do you still forbid that I bear gold
And bribe away this Philistine array
Folded about us, fettering with flame?