The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace.Synecdoche and Metaphor The vision
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle at this instant
Is full accomplished.
Methinks I see him now—
Ay, so thou dost,
Upon a time—unhappy was the clock
That strook the hour!—it was in Rome—accurs’d
The mansion where!—’twas at a feast—O would
Our viands had been poison’d,
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery, nor my heart,
O most delicate fiend!
Who is’t can read a woman?
By med’cine life may be prolong’d, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,