Let petty kings the names of parties know:
Where'er I come, I slay both friend and foe.
The swiftest horse-men my swift rage controls,
And from their bodies drives their trembling souls.
If they had wings, and to the gods could fly,
I would pursue and beat 'em through the sky;
And make proud Jove, with all his thunder, see
This single arm more dreadful is than he. [Exit.
Bayes. There's a brave fellow for you now, sirs. You may talk of your Hectors, and Achilles's, and I know not who; but I defy all your histories, and your romances too, to show me one such conqueror, as this Drawcansir.
Johns. I swear, I think you may.