Touch not De Burgh! And you—lord barons—you
Who blow the gentle fires of this new peace
With wind of your hot tempers—free the king,
And wait as fathers on his tender years!
Alb. I said, my lords, we should have prating here.
Abb. The midnight vision and long hours of prayer
Give us strange powers, and we see thoughts burn
In your intent would strike their fire against
The stars of war and light disaster o'er
A shuddering world. But you——