When he was fortunate and young—
Cha. My father!
Vic. Stay yet!—and if he said he could not die
Deprived of baubles he had put aside,
He deemed, forever—of the Crown that binds
Your brain up, whole, sound and impregnable,
Creating kingliness—the Sceptre too,
Whose mere wind, should you wave it, back would beat
Invaders—and the golden Ball which throbs
As if you grasped the palpitating heart