I know you Grecians, though your necks are bended,
Just for your standstill plight bear the old yoke
With gnashing teeth and lip-curl at your lords.
No thing on earth were easily invented
You were not quick to better, were’t alone
The crown you add, you set it on—and lo,
The thing’s your work, you see that it is good!
[Thoas hands him the diadem.
Bring the new diadem! What use is this?
Has your dolt’s hand the sword as well mistaken?