O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth
There is Throats to be cut, and Works to be done.
As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
The Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind.