Philosophy's still-waved almighty sea
With selfish sorrow's mottled pilot eye.
Oc. And you've a mortal pulse? Can love and die?
Aris. I am as you, Ocrastes,—heart and limb,—
But I have given my kingdom to my soul,
And throned secure above the body's chance
Rock not with its misfortune.
Oc. Who can keep
Such sovereign state, my lord? Art never torn
Or shaken?