Can majesty in such calm slumber lie?
SECOND SLAVE: Come, falter not, strike home!
FIRST SLAVE: Hold, hold your hand,
For death has stolen a march upon our hate;
He does not breathe.
SECOND SLAVE: The stars have wrought for us,
And we are conquerors with unbloodied hands.
FIRST SLAVE: Nay, nay, for in our thoughts his life was spilt;
While yet our bodies lagged in fettered fear,
Our shafted breath sped on and stabbed his sleep.