Wasting the womanish heart, which must be still’d
Yet sooner for its swift consuming brightness,
If not to shame your doubt, and your despair,
And your soul’s torpor? Yet, arise and arm!
It may not be too late.
A Cit. Why, what are we,
To cope with hosts? Thus faint, and worn, and few,
O’ernumber’d and forsaken, is’t for us
To stand against the mighty?
Xim. And for whom