For pow'r politic ne'er can from his hand Against me work dire mischief, for his tongue Is locked securely by our party key. But I must call the lightning to mine aid, And order him who now bemoans his fate, To scan the bailiwick for pots and pans, That Francos no discomfort may incur. For he so long in Fate's kind lap hath lain, That he must ill be fitted to his task Unless luxurious easements smooth his way And jars discomforting wring not his soul. _Exit Caesar._ _Scene 2. Ship on the Ocean._ _Quezox and Francos walking the deck._ _Quezox:_ Most worthy Francos, so my mind hath cast A heavy load aside, and eager now, with hope, I long to meet the foe in combat fierce And pierce the varied joints his armor boasts. _Francos:_ Sweet Quezox, hold! Methinks I read thy mind, Revenge is sweeter than the honeycomb. But let it not take mastery so strong That Reason totters on her wabbly throne. I fear me there are lions in the way, And we must not in open battle wage; But let our minds deep strategy conceive And thus achieve what otherwise might fail. _Quezox:_ Most trenchant Francos, how thy words do prick; I fear unjust suspicion rears its head, For it is not the nature of our race To open deal, when stealth can compass well The object which our surging souls shall seek; For practice which necessity hath caused Hath built a cunning it were hard to meet; But when, impatient of long smould'ring wrongs, We open take the bolo in our hands, With bellies yearning for the blood of those Who long have winked a proud disdainful eye Beware! I say, beware! for mercy then is dead. _Francos:_ But Quezox, hold! Water thy burning thoughts. 'Twere well to bridle firm such wordy steed, For mayhap there be one with list'ning ear, Who wide would publish what were worthy thoughts; But which should covered be by mantle wise, Until time furnisheth the proper hour, To tongue them into words with cautious garb So they shall mellow sound a fiery thought. _Quezox:_ Thy mind, sweet Francos, pregnant is, with thought, And well I ween, thou Caesar's words hast weighed. But patience is a burden hard to bear And oft it galls the back on which 'tis placed. _Francos:_ But Quezox, listen. Speed thy mind beyond The present passing hour, and wise reflect That like a blanket on the jackass spread, Patience can guard against the chafing wound. _Quezox:_ Ah, Francos, well I know that wisdom bears