Thoas.
Why, I see it.
They whisper and compare, they shrug their shoulders,
And clenching fists, have a sly nod with each other.
You’ve given them all too sore offence, and if
The Greek should feel some morning when he wakens
His step go sudden-stumbling o’er a crown
Set by some hand at night to catch his feet,
Should he still spurn it?—Is the man a fool?
He does not rob you of it, that’s enough.