Rein in my wish—(O grant me patience, Heaven!
The dregs!)—now, by my soul! I'd crush the reptile
Beneath my feet; now, while his poisonous tongue
Is darting forth its venom'd slander on me.
King. I will be satisfied in this. Speak, fellow?
Say, what is thy condition?
Ribau. Truly, sir,
'Tis waste of royal breath to make this stir,
For one, whom some few minutes hence your sentence
Must sink to nothing. Henceforth I am dumb