Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce485
Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons,
Returned but now from exile, she may print
A kiss of love, the first—perchance the last.
While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed.
Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn?
But I do fear you both, and for you both.
Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword?
Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war,490
Of which the best end is to be o'ercome.