This royal merchandise of war
That wont to bring towns, cities, provinces,
To kings for profit, is become
A losing trade, or only serves to enrich
My shrewder neighbours, they who fight
In quarrels not their own, and wisely sell
The lives, unprofitable else,
Of their obedient multitude: but I,
Cursed be the hour I did so, I
Who had the wealthiest of the world my dupe,