Jul. I tried it in the front of thousands.
Rod. Death
At least vouchsafe me from a soldier’s hand.
Jul. I love to hear thee ask it—now my own
Would not be bitter; no, nor immature.
Rod. Defy it, say thou rather.
Jul. Death itself
Shall not be granted thee, unless from God;
A dole from his and from no other hand.
Thou shalt now hear and own thine infamy—
Rod. Chains, dungeons, tortures—but I hear no more.
Jul. Silence, thou wretch, live on—aye, live—abhor’d.
Thou shalt have tortures, dungeons, chains, enough—
They naturally rise and grow around
Monsters like thee, everywhere, and for ever.
Rod. Insulter of the fallen! must I endure
Commands as well as threats? my vassal’s too?
Nor breathe from underneath his trampling feet?
Jul. Could I speak patiently who speak to thee,
I would say more—part of thy punishment
It should be, to be taught.
Rod. Reserve thy wisdom
Until thy patience come, its best allie:
I learn no lore, of peace or war, from thee.