Lord. Here, here, my noble lord!
Vor. As with their bloods I stain’d my reeking blade,
From summit of the tow’r, the raven croak’d;
Th’ heavy-wing’d crow did chatter o’er my head,
And seem’d to bear black laurels for this brow:
Yet, did not, erst, the sun-defying eagle
O’er the world-conquering Macedonian hero,
Flutter, and point his way to victory?
Then from thy jarring throat spit pestilence;
And, bird of hell, I’ll take thee for my guide.