Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.

The cunning livery of hell.

I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound'.

I am wrapped in dismal thinking.

In sooth I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn.

What must be shall be.