By Erebus' black daughter, I'd have turned
And beat them to subjection. Not a blow?
Cal. He came to lift their yoke, not add another,
And struck to heart with their ingratitude
Gave them their choice, nor made warlike retort
Beyond to warn them, with his finger lifted
To yonder frowning castle, that the tyrant
Was bayed, not conquered.
Tim. Conquered? No!
The city never knew a woe till now.