with this tie up my sight;

Let not soft nature so transformed be,

And lose her gentler sexed humanity,

To make me see my lord bleed.

So, ‘tis well;

Never one object underneath the sun

Will I behold before my Sophocles:

Farewell; now teach the Romans how to die.

Mar. Dost know what ‘t is to die?

Soph. Thou dost not, Martius,

And, therefore, not what ‘tis to live; to die