How could sheer mortal be their conqueror?
Thoas.
Still, still! Yet this much stands, he’s good and true.
Then hear my words and all may yet go well
Unless the gods should send a chastisement
And you next year make them and us at one.
[Enter Gyges.
He comes. Was this vain talk? Sire, do not smile.
’Tis just on walls saltpetre-crystals form,
Then wherefore not the salt o’ the time on me?