“Roar as much as you want! Spit your saliva—fire! Pour out, rainstorm!
Not thunder, not rain—those aren’t my daughters:
And I don’t blame them for cruelty;
I didn’t grant them a kingdom or call them children—
So they don’t have to obey me either. Come on,
Make your dreadful game! Here I stand:
A sick, unhappy, despised old man,
And you—servants and flatterers
of my wicked daughters—together with them
from the heavens you bring blows down upon my gray head,
so old as I am. Oh what a shame!..”