Veil its pure infinite blue with awful cloud,
And with a terrified eclipse of things
Confound the air you breathe, the light you see,
The ground you walk on!
Guil. Pray sir, compose yourself—
Your cloak—your staff—
Urr. My staff! what use is that,
When it is steel that must avenge my wrong?
Yet give it me—fit instrument
Wherewith to chastise a rebellious child—