Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ.
Leon. I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
035 For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods,
[038] And made a push at chance and sufferance.
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
040 Make those that do offend you suffer too.
Leon. There thou speak’st reason: nay, I will do so.
My soul doth tell me Hero is belied;