Be satisfied, ye Fates! Ye gods, who still
Lark homeless in these ruins that ye once
Made sacred as abodes, and deemed secure,
I take the sword of vengeance that ye proffer,
And swear myself your soldier. I will go,
And with each footstep on some mighty neck,
Shall work your full revenge, nor forfeit mine!
Dost thou not feel my presence, like a cloud,
Before my coming, Rome?[[A]] Is not my spirit,
That goes abroad in earnest of my purpose,