Libated their own blood to some war-chief
What time death’s shadow merely fringed his peril,
How oft been spent for some stark maniac’s rage!
Why not this once then for a happy soul,
Why not for you, whereby long time to come
You may be blest and blessing among men?
You rob me nowise. What have I, what can I
Accomplish? Speak! But you win much indeed,
For envious are the gods, and it may chance
The snipping shears o’ the jealous-minded Parcae