Parasites with wealth puff’d up, should not look so high;
Nor yet for this simple fact poor Damon should die.
Dionysius. With pain mine ears have heard this vain talk of mercy.
I tell thee, fear and terror defendeth kings only:
Till he be gone, whom I suspect, how shall I live quietly,
Whose memory with chilling horror fills my breast day and night violently?
My dreadful dreams of him bereaves my rest; on bed I lie
Shaking and trembling, as one ready to yield his throat to Damon’s sword.
This quaking dread nothing but Damon’s blood can stay:
Better he die, than I to be tormented with fear alway.