Perish that thought! No, never be it said
That Fate itself could awe the soul of Richard.
Hence, babbling dreams! you threaten here in vain!
Conscience, avaunt! Richard 's himself again!
Hark! the shrill trumpet sounds to horse! away!
My soul 's in arms, and eager for the fray.

Act V, scene 3. - Richard III (altered) (1700)