For though the trunk and body of the tree
Be thus within my gripe, still do I fear
Those boughs which stand so near and close allied,
That will, ere long, yield seeds for dire revenge.
Then since my soul e’en murder must commit,
To gratify my thirst for royalty,
Why should I play the child; or, like a niggard,
By sparing, mar and damn my cause for ever?
No! as the blow strikes one, all three must fall!
Then shall I, giant-like, and void of dread,