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The last was I that felt thy tyranny: You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; For a charm of powerful trouble, Where is thy power, then, to beat him back? O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies O heavenly powers, restore him! Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword Insulting tyranny begins to jet What does the tyrant? That lend a tyrannous and a damned light If we be conquered, let men conquer us, Insulting tyranny begins to jet Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,