Could he not make me in his own sweet likeness,
Which process is to break what he has named
The heathenish notions in me. Since he’s failed
I now use force on him his oath to keep,
His death’s a right good thousandfold deserved.
Titus.
I had myself been urgent for his death,
For me he has reviled and Rome in me
And that can everywhere be granted pardon
But here among this stubborn-stomached folk.