Have you none, father? One poor hungry morsel;
Or give me leave to die, as I desired;
For, without your consent, heaven knows, I dare not.
Cleom. I pr'ythee stay a little:—I am loth
To say hard things of heaven!
Cleon. But what if heaven
Will do hard things, must not hard things be said?
You've often told me, that the souls of kings
Are made above the rest of human race;
Have they not fortunes fitted for those souls?