But with a look and word.

_Qu. M._ So Galba thought.

_King._ But Galba was not Cæsar.

_Gui._ I must not give them time for resolution.-- [_Aside._
My journey, sir, has discomposed my health, [_To the king._
I humbly beg your leave, I may retire,
Till your commands recall me to your service. [_Exit[14]._

_King._ So, you have counselled well; the traitor's gone,
To mock the meekness of an injured king. [_To Qu. M._
Why did not you, who gave me part of life,
Infuse my father stronger in my veins?
But when you kept me cooped within your womb,
You palled his generous blood with the dull mixture
Of your Italian food, and milked slow arts
Of womanish tameness in my infant mouth.
Why stood I stupid else, and missed a blow,
Which heaven and daring folly made so fair?

_Qu. M._ I still maintain, 'twas wisely done to spare him.

_Gril._ A pox on this unseasonable wisdom!
He was a fool to come; if so, then they,
Who let him go, were somewhat.

_King._ The event, the event will shew us what we were;
For, like a blazing meteor hence he shot,