By such a load of care?
King.
Lysimachus,
The load of empire lies a weary weight,
On age-worn brains; tho' skies and seas may smile,
And steadfast favouring Fortune sit serene,
Guiding the helm of State, but well thou knowest—
None better in my realm—through what wild waves,
Quicksands, and rock-fanged straits, our Bosphorus,