He’s mine, or I am his: mine emulation
Hath not that honour in’t it had: for where
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
True sword to sword, I’ll potch at him some way
Or wrath or craft may get him.
(i. x. 10.)
My valour’s poison’d
With only suffering stain by him: for him
Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary,
Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,