Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the Moon, under whose countenance we steal.
Yea, there thou makest me sad, and makest me sin In envy that my Lord Northumberland Should be the father to so blest a son,— A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride: Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, See riot and dishonour stain the brow Of my young Harry.
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The minion that does all her dirty work.
Marissa Meyer -- Cinder
I had no idea who he was, or whether he had other, worse minions to send against me.