Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel; then what should war be?
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage.
Cry "havoc!" and let loose the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.