1 And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.
2 Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands again upon my sword.
3 His antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command.
4 For lo, his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i th'air to stick.
5 Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword Th'unnerved father falls.
6 Six Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three liberal conceited carriages: that's the French bet against the Danish.
7 He, being remiss, Most generous, and free from all contriving, Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice, Requite him for your father.
8 Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, Or in th'incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing; or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't, Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes.