A thousand foes to battle.
—It was a beautiful faith that gave these gods
A name and office! Is he not glorious?
Rivers. To my poor thought, there's that within his glance
So fierce, I scarce dare meet it.
Evadne. It is your studious nature, yet methinks
To gaze upon that proud and haughty form,
To think upon the glorious deeds of war,
The pomp and pride and circumstance of battle,
The neighing of the steed, the clash of arms,