My dead friends when they need friends' service most?
O right-hand, how thou yearnest to snatch spear
And serve indeed! in weakness dies the wish,
Or I had stayed thee calling me a slave,
And nobly drawn my breath at home in Thebes
Where thou exultest!—city that's insane,
Sick through sedition and bad government,
Else never had she gained for master—thee!
Meg. Old friends, I praise you: since a righteous wrath
For friend's sake well becomes a friend. But no!