Thus must it be then. I must be cast out,
Turned from the palace, lodged in a private house,
Retired, reduced, forgotten, like any relic
Of barbarous royalty, caged out of reach
Of good or ill; my state just so much show
As has no meaning. Now may some god of mischief
Dare set me in the roll of puny spirits.
Ah!—Hath this my seal, seemeth it? O may my foes
Be fooled so far to think that guile will stay
First in catastrophe. Nay, if I crouch,